TWO LITTLE 
OUTHERN 
SISTERS 




Co 
ELLEN GREY YOUNG 

WHO PLAYED SO SHORT A WHILE IN THE GARDENS OF EARTH 



TWO LITTLE 


SOUTHERN 


SISTERS 


AND THEIR GARDEN PLAYS 


BY 

MARTHA YOUNG 
ii 



ILLUSTRATED BY 

MABEL BETSY HILL 

AND 
RALPH PRATT 



HINDS, HAYDEN & ELDREDGE, Inc. 
New York Philadelphia Chicago 






COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
HINDS, HAYDEN & EIDEEDGE, INC. 



l\)\' MAY 19 i9IS 



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CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Goobers i 

Lemon Pigs 6 

Larkspur Bookmarks 10 

From the Canebrake •-. i5 

Petunia Ladies 19 

Scarlet Sage Crowns 23 

Snapdragon 26 

Over in the Cornfield 29 

Round and Round the Green Box Bed ... 36 

Generous Hickory Trees 38 

In the Hedgerows 43 

In the Sedge Fields 46 

Garden Jewels , 52 

Gems of the Field 56 

Gems of the Grove 61 

Garden Rubies 64 

Mimosa 69 

Wild Mimosa 73 

Bonnets . 75 

Flower-marketing . 78 

Little Red Lambs 83 

A Gift from the Pride of China Trees . . '. . 86 

Shopping 91 

[v] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Making Butterflies q4 

Chinkapins 97 

Chestnuts and Chinkapins 102 

A Toy of Autumn 108 

The Hyacinth Spell 111 

Field Flowers n5 

Up and Down the Lily Line 12S 

Sweet Shrubs 126 

Reins 129 

Willow Whips i3i 

In the Rose Hedges . i34 

Rose Petals 139 

Violet Balls i/j2 

Daisy Plays 14.7 

Christmas Gift from the Pride of China Trees i5o 



[vi] 



Two Little Southern Sisters 
and Their Garden Plays 

GOOBERS 

I think it was one time when our 
cousins came to visit, and we all played 
about the great open fireplace, with the 
roses nodding in at the windows, that 
we had the most fun and the best time. 
That day our nurses filled the long brass- 
handled shovels with goobers dried in the 
sun after the "digging," 
and they shook those 
shovels over the red 
coals, parching the 
goobers deliciously. 

The little cousin from 
Georgia cried, "Aren't 
these peanuts good? " goobers growing 

Said the little cousin from Tennessee, 
"Yes, they are good. I always did like 
ground-peas! " 

Then the little cousin from North 

Alabama said, "Of course they are good, 

[i] 




GOOBERS 

but why don't you call them pindars? 
They are pindars!" 

But the little coast-country cousin 
laughed and laughed and said, "Oh, you 
are all so funny, and these are so good, 
but I call them goobers!" 

And would you believe that all those 
little cousins began to laugh and make 
faces and almost quarrel, and that they 
ran up and down among the roses that 
were nodding in the warm autumn air, 
calling to each other in naughty tones: 

" Georgia peanuts ! " 

" Ground-peas ! Ground-peas ! " 

"Oh, they are pindars! pindars! 
pindars!" 

Meanwhile the cheery little coast- 
country cousin just could not quarrel, 
but half- laughing, half-singing, kept say- 
ing, "Goobers! goobers! Oh, goober - 
peas! 

The noise was so great, and a quarrel 
so near, all about nothing but fun, that 

aunts and Grown-up Cousin came to 

[2] 



Grown-up 



GOOBERS 

see what the matter was. 
Cousin exclaimed: 

"Now, all are right and all are wrong. 
They have all those 
names and one is as good 
as another. I could tell 
you as many more names 
as those you know, and 
all as good; but, instead, 
you tell me which of you 
ever saw a Goober-man ! " 

And not one of them, 
nor my little Sister and I, 
had ever seen a Goober- 
man! Then said Cousin: 

"Bring me five one- 
toed goobers." 

Thereupon six little girls ran off, and 
soon brought the five goobers, each with 
one nut, and only one, in its shell; that 
was what Cousin called a "one-toed 
goober." 

Next she said, " Bring me eight two- 
toed goobers." 

[3] 




f?Al.PH PKATT 



THE GOOBER-MAN 



GOOBERS 

Again six little girls ran to do her 
bidding. It was not hard to find 
goobers with two nuts in each shell, 
for most goobers are like that. 

"Now bring me one goober with three 
toes," Cousin directed. 

That was harder to find, for goobers 
do not often grow that way; but we 
did find several with three nuts in the 
shell, and Cousin chose the finest and 
largest one. 

Using this three-toed goober for a 
body, she fastened to it, with needle and 
thread, a one- toed goober for a head — 
a quaint, yellow, wrinkled head. 

To make an arm she strung together 
two goobers, each with two nuts in the 
shell. Twice she did this, adding to 
each arm a one-toed goober for the 
hand. Legs and feet were made in the 
same way — tiny Chinese feet. 

After sewing the arms and legs to the 
body, Cousin painted a water-colored 

face on the wrinkled, yellow, goober 

[4] 



GOOBERS 
head, and plaited a black silk queue to 
fasten to it. Then she made a yellow 
silk cap to fit the goober head. 

Oh, what a queer little head! 

Next she made blue silk trousers and 
a red silk blouse. 
When she had put 
them on the Goober- 
man, how droll he 
looked ! 

A comical little 
Chinaman! A nice 
little mandarin! 

We children laughed 
and laughed, and felt 
as if we could never ^"mr 

again come near quar- A NICE LITTLE mandarin 
reling, not ever! We all started mak- 
ing goober-men dolls — such funny little 
goober-men dolls! 




[5] 



LEMON PIGS 

When my little Sister and I went visiting 
our cousins who lived far south, in Ala- 
bama, and in Florida, 
our favorite play- 
ground was under 
the thorny lemon 
trees. We had no 
lemon trees in the 
garden at home. 

In Florida the 
leaves of the lemon 
trees are so sweet 
that they fill the air 
with delicious odors, and the mocking- 
birds love to flutter about them. And 
we loved to be under those trees! We 
read story-books and played dolls in 
their shade. 

But the play we liked best of all was 
to have a drove of pigs for each of us 

to take care of and to drive to pasture. 

[6] 




THE THORNY LEMON 



LEMON PIGS 

Any way- down- south child knows that 
every round, fat lemon has already a 
"snout" of its own. So with snouts 
ready-made, it is easy to make a drove 
of nice fat pigs. We used to cut out 
of the rind two yellow ears that stood 
up of themselves— a little three-cornered 
cut does it. Then we lifted those ears 
and bent them into shape. The eyes 
were heads of matches. We cut off most 
of the wooden part of two red-headed, 
or brown-headed, matches, sharpened 
the ends into points, and stuck them 
into the lemon until only the heads 
showed. We could make one pig look 
different from another by setting his 
eyes farther apart, and by cutting his 
ears in a sharper point or cocking them 
at a different angle. Then, too, we 
could give one pig longer legs than an- 
other, or a curlier tail, so that no two 
pigs would look just alike. 

It was fun to make the legs and the 

tails for our pigs. We stuck in four 

[7] 



LEMON PIGS 

matches for legs. If we made the front 
legs the longer, our pig was the kind 
that would look about and start off to 
explore. If the back legs were the 
longer, it was the kind of pig that would 
stay at home and root in the ground 
with great contentment. If it had very, 
very short back legs, it would sit on the 
ground, like a dog. And we would push 



THE LEMON PIGS 



the match-legs so far into the body that 
our pig could sit on the ground in any 
position that we wished. 

The tail was made by whittling a bit 
of match so thin that we could bend it 
until it had the proper curl. 

Oh, those yellow lemon pigs looked 

funny in a drove, or when they were 

[8] 



LEMON PIGS 
camped out together under a tree, or 
when they were scattered about feeding 
in the grass! They were so fat and so 
cunning ! 

The lemons themselves look pretty 
growing on the trees, or lying thick on 
the grass, yellow and fragrant. Away- 
down-south children have all the lemons 
they want to play with. 



C93 



LARKSPUR BOOKMARKS 



Our mother always said, " There must 
be flowers for the children to pick — just 

as many as they want. 
Not the fine flowers — 
just common flowers 
a plenty, for the chil- 
dren to gather and play 
with." 

So our garden was 
full of the old-fashioned 
flowers that children 
like, fragrant roses and 
spicy pinks, great tall 
hollyhocks which the 
bumblebees liked too, red silk poppies, 
snapdragons, Canterbury bells, and rocket 
larkspur. 

How we did enjoy the larkspur when it 
bloomed in June! Some bore long rods 
of pink flowers, and some bore rods, 
just as long, of blue. 

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A SPRAY OF LARKSPUR 



LARKSPUR BOOKMARKS 

We never expected or watched for the 
larkspurs to bud, or waited for them to 
bloom. Just suddenly, some early sum- 
mer day, the most unexpected places of the 
garden would be aglow with larkspur all 
a-flower. Then my Sister and I would 
say to each other: 

" Let us make book- 
marks for our books! 
Let us make larkspur 
bookmarks!" Every 
year we would say that 
same thing — and no 
summer passed that we 
did not make book- 
marks out of larkspur! 
This is the way we 
set to work: First we 
picked off a flower. 
Catching the "spur" 
petal with thumb and 
finger, we drew it, ever so carefully, 
off from the calyx. Then we drew off 
another, and another, and another spur 

En] 




A WREATH BOOKMARK 



LARKSPUR BOOKMARKS 

petal, picking from the flower-rod but 
one blossom at a time. 

When we had enough "spurs," we 
carried them in our aprons, and sat 
down in the arbor, or under a tree, to 
make the bookmarks. We slipped the 
"toe" of one spur into the "shoe" of 
another spur, and so on, "heel and toe," 
until the spurs were joined in a row, or 
chain. Then we bent the chain of petals 
into a circle, and slipped the toe at one 
end into the shoe at the other, making 
a perfect ring, or wreath. 

These wreaths of spur petals we called 
bookmarks. We could use one ring for 
a mark, or, when we were making them, 
we could link several rings together to 
make a prettier mark. We linked them 
in a row or we linked them in a circle, 
making a large garland of the little 
wreaths. Often we made our rings all 
of blue spurs, and sometimes we made 
them all of pink spurs. Sometimes we 
made them with first a blue spur and 

[12] 



LARKSPUR BOOKMARKS 
then a pink one, then blue, then pink, 
and so on. Sometimes we did not make 
the chain of spur petals into a wreath 
at all, but instead left it straight, only 
bending one end in a pretty curve, to 
form a shepherd's crook. 

Whatever the pattern, 
though, we always pressed 
the bookmarks flat so 
they would keep their 
shape and color. 

In making the book- 
marks, sometimes we 
pulled out the two little 
crumpled, folded-up pet- 
als that lie in the spur, 
and sometimes we did 
not. English larkspur, 
the tall, bright blue 
formosum kind that our 
mother called delphin- 
ium—delphinium formo- A she b p ™ark ROOK 
sum— had these funny folded-up petals, 

like little clubs, in the sours; but our 

[i3] 




LARKSPUR BOOKMARKS 

own larkspur that we loved best to play 
with, was the familiar, shorter sort, with 
the pale-blue and pale-pink blossoms. 

We gave the marks to Mother, or to 
our aunts and cousins, to "keep the 
place" in their books, and sometimes 
we put them in our own books. They 
would last a long while. In some of 
our books we have larkspur bookmarks 
that we have kept since we were little 
girls. 



SPUR PETALS 



[i-4] 



FROM THE CANEBRAKE 

The canebrakes on the borders of the 
Southern rivers are beautiful. Little 
folks never go there 
to play — there are 
too many snakes! 

But canes were 
brought up, in one 
way or another, for 
us children. We al- 
ways had them to 
play with. 

Long ago, before 
the gentle, soft- 
voiced Indians, the 
Ghoctaws, left our state, wandering west- 
ward, we looked for them every spring 
to come into our villages, and out to the 
plantations, bringing their wares to sell. 
They brought very beautiful baskets 
made of woven cane reeds brightly dyed. 
What Alabama girl has not her own 

pretty Indian basket! 

[i5] 




PARTS OF THE CANE 



FROM THE CANEBRAKE 

For the little boys they brought blow- 
guns with arrows. 

The gun was a long, straight cane, 
carefully hollowed out, the tough fiber 
at the joints burned through with red- 
hot wires. Some of those marvelous 
guns were three yards long! The arrows 
were short wires, with a wisp of cotton 
firmly bound about one end; round and 
round was the cotton tightly bound un- 
til the arrow looked like a cat-tail grow- 
ing by the brook. 

The arrow was put into the long gun; 
then you lifted the gun in both hands 
as if it were a trumpet, and — blew! 

How the arrow flew! 

It was wonderful how expert at target- 
shooting we children became — we little 
girls used to shoot with these long slender 
blow-guns, as straight as our brothers! 

We used to think too that nothing 
made so good a fishing-pole as the long 
lithe cane — how those natural rods 

would spring to the nibble of a fish! 

[16] 



FROM THE CANEBRAKE 
And oh, the music we children 
would get from our cane flutes! 
They were the true Indian flutes 
— the Choctaws used- to bring 
them to sell. They looked simple; 
but we knew by experience that 
it was not easy to make a cane 
flute that would " play," though it 
was just a section of cane, with a 
mouth-hole cut near the fibrous 
joint, the pith extracted, and small 
notches cut where the fingers might 
start and stop the breathing mel- 
ody. What little Southern girl has 
not worked patiently for many a 
sunny hour, with her pocketknife, 
trying to make a flute that would 
"sound." 

Oh, the waving, murmuring, 
canebrake, green and cool! It is 
one of the dearest of my child- 
hood's outdoor pictures! But it 
will not be long, now, till the rich 

old river-bottoms will be cleared 

[17] 



THE 
FISH-POLE 



FROM THE CANEBRAKE 

up for the growing of cotton crops and 
corn. Then good -by to reed baskets, 
and to blow-guns, and to cane fishing- 
poles, and to the Indian flutes we 
loved ! 



[18] 



PETUNIA LADIES 



In an old part of the garden the 
petunias had been allowed to run wild, 
so that when they were in bloom the 
place looked like a sheet of green sum- 
mer sea with white foam-tips atop. 
Then it was that 
my little Sister and 
I loved to play 
"petunia ladies." 

We gave great 
"flower-lady par- 
ties" down in the 
garden, with sweet- 
fern seed and elder- 
berries set out for 
a feast, on a palma Ghristi leaf for a 
table. And what happy times we had 
dressing the "ladies"! 

At home, Miss Petunia wore a plain 
white frock without furbelows, very 
sweet and becoming. But for parties 

there must be party-dresses. 

[19] 




A PETUNIA BLOSSOM 



PETUNIA LADIES 

Miss Petunia herself in her white home 
frock, was a blossom we had picked — 
with a large-enough green stem. We 
put her down to stand alone, her white 
skirt open wide on the garden walk. 
The green calyx was her basque, with 
nice green tabs such as you may see in 

old-time fashion 
pictures. 

We stood ever 
so many petunia 
ladies, like that, on 
the walk. 

A PETUNIA LADY AND LITTLE GIRL Then WC DlVkpd 

a great many more petunias of all sizes. 
We pulled off each stem and calyx at 
the open throat of the bell; and then 
we dropped one of the round corollas 
over Miss Petunia's head — that made 
one ruffle on the skirt. And so on and 
on, until her skirt was decked with snowy 
ruffles up to her green waist; after that 
we carefully laid out the green tabs over 
the last corolla. 

[20] 




PETUNIA LADIES 

A floret of verbena pulled from its 
calyx and put, corolla down, on Miss 
Petunia's head, gave her a hat like the 
one Mother Goose wears, with high, 
pointed crown. 

But Lady Petunia did not always go 




MAKING PETUNIA LADIES 



alone to the party. There were two 
sorts of petunias in the old garden, the 
wide white single ones, and the small 
bell-shaped red ones. Little Sister and 
I used to dress the tiny red ones out in 
many, many red flounces, and play that 

[21] 



PETUNIA LADIES 

they were the little girls of the stately 
matrons in white. Of course, they went 
with their petunia mothers to the party 
of the flower ladies. 



[22] 



SCARLET SAGE CROWNS 

We children did not know when to ex- 
pect the scarlet sage to bloom. We did 
know, every summer, that there would 
be that glad surprise — when the hundreds 
of tall green staffs in the outer borders 
and odd places would suddenly show 
those fiery red tips that made a blaze of 
scarlet in the old garden. Then one of 
us — perhaps it was the little cousin from 
Georgia — would cry: 
44 Let us crown the summer-time!" 
So we gathered scarlet tips until 
our aprons were full. Then we sat in 
some sheltered corner where the winds 
wouldn't blow our pretty work away, 
and began to make scarlet sage crowns. 
We laid the flower-tips on the covers of 
our story-books, being careful not to 
crush the flowers, for they would stain! 
as red! — a very pretty red for painting 

[23] 



SCARLET SAGE CROWNS 

paper-ladies' cheeks, but it would have 
spoiled our story-book covers. 

With a story-book cover for a firm 
work place, like a drawing board for 
the artist, we began a summer- crown. 
We slipped one red tip deep into the 
throat of another red tip, and so on, 
and so on, and so on, till the scarlet 
wreath was round and as red as the 
outer ring of the harvest moon. 

Then we threw it high in the air, and 
cried, "Here's for the summer!" and 
watched the scarlet crown fall all in 
pieces in the yellow sand. 

Or, perhaps, if it was in the cool of 
the afternoon, we "made statues." We 
crowned our own locks with summer's 
scarlet crowns and ran to our favorite 
round bed bordered with green box 
bushes. We each chose a bush, and 
dropping into its stiff, but yielding 
branches we sat as still as still could 
be, waiting for passers-by. The box 
bushes fitted all around us like easy 

[24] 



SCARLET SAGE CROWNS 
chairs with enveloping backs and arms 
of leafy greenness. Then when our 
aunts, or uncles, or our grown-up cousins 
passed by in the garden, they were sure 
to say: 




h^jj^££2^ 



MAKING STATUES 



"What fairies are these sitting in the 
box trees crowned with scarlet crowns?'' 



[25] 





SNAPDRAGON 

Oh, how glad we were in midsummer 
when the snapdragons bloomed! We 
loved to pluck the fiercest ones and 
make them talk. We caught them by 
the throat and pressed them, and their 
mouths opened and shut, and opened 
and shut. 

My little Sister held a wee snap- 
dragon by the throat and made him 
open his mouth and say: "Why are we 
called snapdragons?" 

And I held a big snapdragon by the 
throat and made him open his mouth 
and say: "Because the Greek story- 
books are wrong; they tell that Cadmus 
sowed dragons' teeth and armed men 
sprang up, but I was there and that 
wasn't true — flowers sprang up, and 
Cadmus called them 'snapdragons.' 

C26] 



SNAPDRAGON 

Then my Sister made her little snap- 
dragon say: "And so we didn't have 
to go to fighting at all!" 

Then I made my snapdragon say: " No, 
though we are dragons, we don't fight." 

Then she made her little snapdragon 
open his mouth very wide and say: 
"What time of the year is this?" 

My snapdragon said: " Summer-time!" 

So her snapdragon asked: "Why call 
it summer-time?" 

And my snapdragon answered: "I 
reckon because it's a lazy time; when 
we ask Mammy for a story she goes to 
sleep and says, 'I'll tell you some-o'her- 
time, some-o'her-time.'" 

The little snapdragon inquired: "What 
was the time before?" 

And the large snapdragon told him: 
"Spring-time; that was the time we all 
came springing up!" 

Then the little snapdragon said: "What 
will the next time be?" 

And the. large one replied: "Fall; 

[27] 



SNAPDRAGON 

flowers fall off then, and apples fall 
down." 

The inquiring little snapdragon wanted 
to know: "What time next?" 

The large one said: "Winter- time." 

So the little one asked: "What about 
that?" 

And the large one shivered and said: 
"I don't know; I never am here then." 

Then the little snapdragon opened his 
mouth wide — and didn't say anything! 

Sometimes we played "feed the 
babies," and opened the snapdragons' 
mouths to drop in bits of sweet-fern 
and rosemary and little seeds and the 
like, every bit of which they swallowed, 

But we liked best to make them talk 
as though they were a Punch- and- Judy 
show. 



[28] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

The big cornfield reached up to the 
flower garden, and we children had 
many play-places just through the hedge, 
in among the tall, rustling stalks. Many 
a fine ear of corn did we spoil, my little 




Mabeh8 a +yy rt/J/\ >\ -y gMfFJ/// 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 



Sister, the little cousins, and I, getting 
corn silk to make curls to deck our- 
selves. Funny enough we looked with 
long twists of rosy and gold corn silk 
hanging over our own locks of yellow, 

brown, or black! 

[29] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

Later when the stalks were dry and 
the pith within was well-formed, we 
made comical corn-pith cows. We cut 
off a nice joint of cornstalk. We split 
the horny outside and peeled it care- 
fully away so as to leave the pith clean 
and whole. Then we cut off just the 
right length for a cow. Four inches 
was a good length. With our pocket- 
knives we shaved one end for the head, 
and cut into the pith, evenly all around, 
to make the neck. From the hard out- 
side of the stalk we split off two little 
"hooker-hookers," like those of the cow 
in the riddle, and stuck them into the 
head for horns ^- we used our knives to 
make places to stick them in. The two 
" harker-harkers " were cut from the 
same mate ial and pinned on. Two large 
black-headed pins made the "looker- 
lookers." Sometimes a strand of dry 
corn silk made the one " switch- about" ; 
sometimes it was a strip of the stalk 

cut thin and frayed out at the end. 

[30] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

Last of all, we stuck in four stiff, slen- 
der "run-abouts," cornstalk legs — and 
there stood the cow — such . a comical 
cow! - -.,', 

We made also corn-pith dancing girls. 
The favorite height was three inches. 
First, in the top of the head we dug 




SUCH A COMICAL COW! 



out a nice round hole in which to glue 
a bullet; or else three little holes for 
three big "shot." In some of these dolls 
the bullet was glued into the foot -end, 
instead of the head. Then we marked 
the features, the eyes with black ink, 
the lips with red ink. Out of corn husk 
we cut dresses for our pith girls, with 

scallopy points around the bottom; we 

[3i] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

wound them around the neck with a bit 
of sewing silk. Then we stuck in little 
arms cut from cornstalk. Last of all 
we glued on long floating hair — dry 
brown corn silk. It was fun to have 




CORN-PITH DANCING GIRLS 



ever so many corn-pith girls together! 
Those with bullets at the top would 
dance and turn summersaults and then 
stand on their heads. When we stood 
the other kind on their heads, they would 
dance back to their toes every time. 

Once Grown-up Cousin showed us, my 
little Sister and me, how to. make a 

[32] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

young lady. Her name was "Miss 
Maize." Grown-up Cousin selected a 
fine joint of pith, and a fine ear or two 
of corn, with clean, perfect husks — 
"shucks," Southern children say instead 
of "husks." She broke the ear from 
the stalk in such a way as to leave a 
piece of the stem on the ear. Then she 
carefully laid open the husks and broke 
the fine fresh inner ones off close to the 
stem, so that they would keep their 
round clinging shape and could be used 
for clothes. 

The young lady was made like the 
pith-girls, only taller, with a round head 
and a nicely shaped neck. Grown-up 
Cousin drew Miss Maize's features with 
a sweeter expression; her eyebrows and 
eyelashes were very carefully done, her 
mouth was small and red, and her rich 
corn-silk hair was wound round her head 
in a beautiful close fluff instead of being 
allowed to flow loose. 

To dress Miss Maize, Grown-up Cousin 

[33] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

trimmed off, at the wider end, two 
of those fresh inside husks, the right 
length for a skirt, and scalloped them; 
the rounded stem ends just fitted over 
the young lady's waist. Next Grown-up 

Cousin cut from two 
husks a flowing cape 
with tiny points at 
the neck, and tied it 
on with a bit of pink 
ribbon. But the mak- 
^ ing of the bonnet was 
the best part. The 
stem end of a small 




MISS MAIZE 



husk fitted Miss Maize's head exactly. 
For a crownpiece, Grown-up Cousin sewed 
a little flap onto the back of this husk. 
She would cut it in front to please our 
taste; we usually chose a large poke bon- 
net as the most becoming to Miss Maize. 
Flowers and cunning little feathers cut 
out of husks were used for trimming. 
When her bonnet was on and the young 

lady stood under the green fig tree, 

[34] 



OVER IN THE CORNFIELD 

dressed all in that rich, stiff, golden 
stuff — oh, lovely, lovely Miss Maize! 

"Cousin, you are lovely to have made 
her," we cried. 

We laid our new treasure within the 
outer husks of the ear, tied them tightly 
with a thread, and, carrying the dainty 
sheath by the stem, took her to the 
house. Then, what an enchanting pleas- 
ure for every one, to peep at her in her 
golden closet! All winter we kept her in 
our little bureau. We might build cob 
cabins and corn wigwams downstairs for 
our gay corn-pith girls— -but Miss Maize 
dwelt apart, like an enchanted princess. 



[35] 



ROUND AND ROUND THE 
GREEN BOX BED 

There was a round bed in 
Mother's garden, in the 
center of which was a 
sundial. All around the 
bed was a border of small 
box trees. Each box tree 
was trimmed as round as 
round could be. They sat 
on end around the edge 
of the bed, for all the 
world like great eggs — a 
circle of great green Easter 
eggs, each two feet high! 

When my little Sister and I grew 
tired of everything else, we used to go 
to the box bushes to look for our for- 
tunes. There was a round brown hollow 
down in the midst of each green ball 
We would pull back the stiff green on 
top, peep down into the round brown 
hole, and always find in there — nothing 

[36] 




A SPRIG OF BOX 



ROUND AND ROUND THE GREEN BOX BED 

at all! Then we would laugh just as 
happily as if we had found — everything 
nice! 

While the summer sun shone on us 
and the sundial marked the time, we 
would run round and round the circular 
bed, opening green boxes and looking into 
brown hollows, until we forgot which 
box we began with, and whether we 
had been all around; so then we had to 
begin again and mark our starting-place 
with a rose stuck into the stiff greenness 
of that bush, and the place where we 
left off, with a lily stuck into that. 

The next morning the game was just 
as fresh and interesting as ever, for we 
fancied the fairies had been out all 
night, with little nasturtium leaves for 
umbrellas, and might have left our for- 
tune in any one of those tiny box trees. 

These were the same green box bushes 
which made quaint chairs for us when 
we sat like scarlet- crowned fairies. 

[3 7 ] 



GENEROUS HICKORY TREES 

The hickory trees that spread wide black 
arms over the old fence corners and 
through the forests always seemed like 
real playfellows — playfellows and kind 
friends. They kept giving, giving — giv- 
ing us something to play with, or some- 
thing to please us, as our old black 
mammy did. 

We must never go out- 
side our garden without 
a skiff a g rown person. It was 

Grown-up Cousin who went with us al- 
most always, and almost always Some- 
body, too. He taught us how to make 
whistles from the wood of the hickory 
trees, the best of all wood for whistles 
with the long musical note ! We loosened 
the bark for a mouthpiece, cut notches 
for notes, then blew through. 

When we were walking in the woods 
and thirsted to drink from some cool, 

[38] 




GENEROUS HICKORY TREES 

sparkling spring half-hidden beneath 
overhanging ferns, we used to make 
drinking-cups from hickory leaves. We 
each picked a big leaf, rolled 
it into the form of a funnel, 
and ran a sharp, slender twig 
through to pin it in shape. We 
had to roll and fold carefully, 
a*o™ SKJFF so as not to leave a hole at 
the end of the funnel. Each of us, every 
little cousin, little Sister and I, even 
Grown-up Cousin, had a crisp green cup 
of her own. 

In the chill, bright autumn, when the 
hickory nuts were ripening on the trees 
and falling to the ground, and the great 
hulls could be divided, 
such cradles — cradles 
that rocked with a touch ! 
Perhaps when the night- 
winds rocked them gently' 
back and forth, to and fro, AND ANOTHER SKIFF 
the fairies' babies rocked in them, asleep 
in the moonlight! 

[3 9 ] 




GENEROUS HICKORY TREES 

Then, such boats from those hulls — 
skiffs, the Southern children called them. 
All we needed was a penknife, a match, 
and a bit of paper. Oh, the blissful 
hours we had with our hickory-hull 
boats, the paper sail held by the match; 
or boats without any sail at all. We 
floated them sometimes in a tub of water, 
sometimes in the smoother stretches of 
the brook. 

But the funniest toy of all for us was 
the Hickory Nut Woman with her yel- 
lowish old wrinkled face, of the same 
color as the faces of some of the old 
house servants. Grown-up Cousin made 
this toy for us, and this is the way she 
did it. For the head she used a hickory 
nut. The pointed end was an excellent 
nose. From our boxes of water colors 
she painted black eyes, red cheeks, and a 
most expressive mouth. A stick pushed 
through the nut and down to the bot- 
tom of a small round box stuffed with 

cotton made the "framework." Grown- 

[>] 



GENEROUS HICKORY TREES 

up Cousin then sewed a little dark 
woolen frock for our toy, and stretched 
it over the box so as to give the skirt a 
smart stand-out. The waist she stuffed 
out with cotton, and the sleeves with cot- 
ton, for arms. She pinned on a white 
neckerchief, and 
folded and pinned 
about the head a 
red headkerchief 
for a turban. 
There! we had 
an old plantation 
aunty ready to 
wait on little doll 
misses and mas- 
ters! So we pro- 
vided her with 
apron and turban 
and neckerchief 
of pretty figured stuff. She could stand 
upright anywhere we placed her. 
Sometimes, when we made a hickory 

woman ourselves, we stood her on our 

C4i] 




THE HICKORY NUT WOMAN 



GENEROUS HICKORY TREES 

little bureau and stuck her dress full of 
pins; then she was more than ever like 
a kind old mammy ready to give us a 
pin. 

The hickory trees used to supply the 
Southern boys with "flippets" a plenty 
— pebble shooters. But we little girls 
never liked "flippets"! 



[42] 



IN THE HEDGEROWS 



Always when we walked along the hedge- 
rows of our fields in early summer, my 
little Sister and I loved to fancy that the 
fairies had washed out their lace dresses 
and hung them to dry, 
and that during the 
night they had been 
changed into flowers 
— for the elder bushes 
would be covered 
with masses of white 
bloom, like white lace 
net with tiny white 
flowers embroidered 
into it. 
The elders were our 




KT-f 



ELDERBERRIES 



special play-bushes. But as long as they 
were blooming, we knew that the pith in 
the elder stalk was not yet ripe enough 
to pull out. To make a play-gun we 

must wait for the pith to ripen. 

[43] 



IN THE HEDGEROWS 

When the flowers were gone, bunches 
of red and maroon and purple berries 
came where the bloom had been, and 
then the birds would make merry in the 
hedgerows. How they ate those berries! 
Oh, such fluttering bouquets of birds 
those elder bushes bore all day long! 

Then it was that Somebody taught us 
how, with jack-knives, to make pop- 
guns and squirt-guns. 

He taught us how to cut a joint of 
elder and draw out the pith. Then he 
took a stout stick and put a haft on it. 
So he made something like an old-time 
muzzle-loader! For a "load" he put a 
hard berry in the muzzle, drove the 
stick quickly into the tube up to the 
haft; then — pop! with the loud noise 
out went the berry! 

How we did enjoy those pop-guns! 

But for a squirt-gun, instead of clean- 
ing out all the joint in the muzzle of the 
gun, he drilled little pinholes through 

the fiber, then loaded up with water, 

CM] 



77V THE HEDGEROWS 

put a mop of cotton on the rod, drove 
the rod through the gun — and, oh, such 



a spray 



What jolly times we had with the 
squirt -guns! 



3 



A POP-GUN 



[45] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

One day it seemed to us little girls that 
we were living in a gilt-edged world, 
because when we looked out of this door 
we saw the great hill gold-topped. And 
we all asked excitedly: "What is that? 
What is that?" 

The grown-up folks replied: "That is 
sedge turned yellow on the hilltop." 

' ' Beautiful, beautiful sedge ! " exclaimed 
the little coast-country cousin. 

Then when we stood at that door and 
looked out, we saw the sunlight fall on 
another hill all gilded like the first. 
Again we asked eagerly: "What is 
that?" 

The grown folks answered: "That 
is wild broom sedge glowing on the 
hillside." 

"Wonderful wild broom sedge!" cried 
the little cousin from Georgia. 

And when we saw more and more 

[46] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

slopes — yellow, yellow, yellow — we 
begged: "Take us up where the gold 
sedge grows!" 

" Some day," the grown-up people 
promised. 

"What day is some day?" asked the 
little cousin from north Alabama. And 
each day we asked that same question, 
until one day Somebody said 

"To-day is some day!" Then, turning 
to Grown-up Cousin, he inquired: "May 
we take the children to the sedge fields 
to-day? " 

"Why, yes," said Grown-up Cousin. 

So we set out for the yellow fields. 

We asked Somebody, "What is the 
sedge good for?" 

"Good for nothing!" he told us, as 
we walked toward the gold-topped hill. 

We little girls might have walked on 
and on without ever knowing that we 
had reached the gold field, if Somebody 
had not stopped short amid -field, while 

Grown-up Cousin sat down in the tall, 

[ 4 7 ] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

stiff stuff and cried, "Stop! Stop! Stop! 
Don't you know that you are in the 
gold sedge-fields!" Then Somebody also 
sat down, and they both laughed at us 
merrily. 
Oh, how disappointed we were to learn 




PLAYING JACKSTRAWS 



that the fields of gold were but stiff 
clumps of rough, dry grass with feathery 
heads — good for nothing! 

"It is the way things are," sighed the 
little coast-country cousin. 

"But it is good to know how things 

[48] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

really are," said the little cousin from 
Tennessee. 

"It is good to enjoy things as they 
really are," said Grown-up Cousin. 

'Therefore," Somebody said, "run and 
bring me stiff smooth stalks of sedge 
and I will make jackstraws and teach 
you how to play a game." 

So we ran and had great fun choosing 
and gathering the stiff smooth stalks. 
We took them to Somebody and he 
counted the best of the stalks we had 
brought. When he had chosen a hun- 
dred and two nice straws, he cut one 
hundred of them the same length, and 
the length was five inches. The other 
two stalks he cut each seven inches 
long. He ran a pin through the end of 
each of the seven-inch straws and bent 
that pin up like a hook. Then he gath- 
ered all the one hundred straws in one 
hand and, with the hand closed, held 
them about eighteen inches above the 

ground, while he counted, "One! Two! 

[4 9 ] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

Three!" At that he dropped the straws 
— all at once! They fell in a loose heap, 
helter skelter, every way! 

Then Somebody began to teach us to 
play. 

"Sit one at each side of the heap!" 
he directed. 

So I sat on one side and little coast- 
country cousin on the other, and Some- 
body continued: 

"Now each one take one of the pin- 
hook straws! Hold the straw handle 
carefully, and with the hook lift off just 
one straw from the heap." 

I lifted one straw carefully, as I was 
told to do. 

"Now another," said Somebody. 

Then little coast-country cousin lifted 
a straw from the heap. 

"Now another," said Grown-up 
Cousin. 

" If you touch any straw with the hook 
but the one you lift off, you are out," 
explained Somebody, "and the other 

[50] 



IN THE SEDGE FIELDS 

one plays, and gets just as many as she 
can. The one who gets off the most 
straws wins the game." 

We liked to play this game, and we 
carried our jackstraws and hooks home 
where we had the most fun sitting just 
inside the doorsill, dropping the straws 
on the floor in a heap, and lifting them, 
oh, so carefully, one by one. 

We were glad indeed to learn that the 
gold broom sedge is good for something, 
after all! 




< 



JACKSTRAWS AND HOOKS 



[5i] 



GARDEN JEWELS 

" Gome, let's go gather jewels!" called 
Grown-up Cousin to little Sister and 
me. 

I was just old enough to enjoy the 
tales of Aladdin's wonderful cave of 
jewels, and little Sister was old enough 
to love to be told anything and every- 
thing that I could tell her; so we both 
felt very much excited and cried to- 
gether: "Jewels!" 

"We'll get them and then we'll set 
them," said Grown-up Cousin. 

That, too, sounded good to us, but 
we wondered first how we could find 
jewels here at home and how, after we 
had found them, we could set them. 
Yet we well knew that home was the 
most wonderful of places, and that 
Grown-up Cousin could do anything, 
just anything in the world. So we fol- 
lowed her to the great magnolia tree. 

There she began to move about slowly, 

[52] 



GARDEN JEWELS 

looking at the ground, and as she moved 
she carefully pushed the fallen dried 
leaves about with the toe of her slipper. 
Suddenly she said: 

"No garnet is more beautifully red 
than this." 

We both ran to look. What we saw 
was just a red seed. 

"No color in all the world is more 




THE GREAT MAGNOLIA 



beautiful," said Grown-up Cousin, "and 
see what' a great tree it comes from! 
From this red seed might come as great 
a tree, all rich and green, with hundreds 
of huge milk-white blossoms; and oh, 
the fragrance that those blossoms shed!" 

[53] 



GARDEN JEWELS 

We looked in amazement at the small 
red seed. 

"Here's another," said little Sister. 

"Yes," said Grown-up Cousin, "there 
are so many, so many hundreds of them 
that we may play that they are jewels 
and make toys of some of them." 

Grown-up Cousin seated herself under 
the tree and said : ' ' Bring me all you 
can find and I will make two necklaces 
of red, red garnets." 

Little Sister was turning the leaves 
about, and already she had a handful of 
the seeds which she gave to Grown-up 
Cousin. Then we hunted and found 
many of the red seeds hanging from 
sockets on their great pods. These pods, 
when they had just dropped from the 
trees, were faintly green and so large 
that little Sister could not hide one 
quite out of sight by folding her two 
hands tightly over it. The seeds were 
difficult to string, for they were very 

hard, as walls must be to hold great 

[54] 



GARDEN JEWELS 

treasure, and we knew now what great 
treasure those small seeds held. 

We felt proud, indeed, when we at 
last wore, each one, a necklace of red, 
red garnets. 




[55] 



GEMS OF THE FIELD 

There did not seem to be any end to 
the things that Grown-up Cousin knew; 
and she seemed eager to tell us many 
of those lovely things. That was the 
reason why we were always so glad 
when Grown-up Cousin came to stay at 
our house. 

We had hardly told all our little cous- 
ins about the garden garnets, and helped 
them gather magnolia seeds, and string 
the necklaces, when Grown-up Cousin 
said we needed crowns. 

"Crowns!" cried the little coast-coun- 
try cousin. "Are we queens?" 

"Yes, all queens," said Grown-up 
Cousin, "every good little girl is a 
queen." 

We liked to think that we were queens. 

"Queens have scepters," said the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

[56] 



GEMS OF THE FIELD 

"Then we shall have scepters, too," 
said Grown-up Cousin. "To-day I will 
take you where both crowns and scepters 
grow," 

In the afternoon Grown-up Cousin 
called us, saying she 
was ready to go 
with us to look for 
our crowns and scep- 
ters. Little Sister 
put on her sunb on- 
net in such a hurry 
that she had the 
back frill on before, 
and I had to turn it 
right so she would 
not look as if she 
were walking backwards! 

With Grown-up Cousin leading the 
way we started for the land of crowns 
and scepters. And we learned that that 
land was our own home field! — for we 
found our crowns all growing in scarlet 




THE SARSAPARILLA VINE 



[5 7 ] 



GEMS OF THE FIELD 

splendor in the corners of the old rail 
fence. 

Those scarlet crowns were made of 
vines of the sarsaparilla — vines that 
now hung thick with bunches of berries 

as beautiful as any 
clusters of polished 
coral. I found the 
first one, but I did 
not know that it 
was a crown until I 
called Grown-up 
Cousin to see the 
beautiful berries. 

" It is your crown," 
she said, and break- 
ing the vine off at its roots she wound it, 
with all its sparkling clusters of berries, 
into a crown and laid it on my head. 
Then I felt proud indeed, because I was 
the first to be crowned queen. 

When we were all crowned with scar- 
let glory, we began to wonder where our 




THE BERMUDA MULBERRY 



[58] 



GEMS OF THE FIELD 

scepters grew, but we did not need to 
wonder long, for Grown-up Cousin led 
us to a fence corner where grew a tall 
bush of Bermuda mulberry. The stout 




VERY HAPPY LITTLE QUEENS 



staves of the bush were now bare of 
leaves, and about each stiff staff grew 
clusters of magenta-colored berries — 
circles of berries growing at intervals all 
up and down the stem. These stems so 



[59] 



GEMS OF THE FIELD 

finely decked with berries made impos- 
ing scepters. 

So, crowned and scepter ed all, we 
walked home in the bright twilight, 
very happy little queens. 



[60] 



GEMS OF THE GROVE 

When we had learned how jewels grew 
all about us, my little Sister and I, we 
all but forgot that it was Grown-up 
Cousin who had taught us to play at 
getting and setting 
gems, for we found 
so many berries and 
seeds of which we 
could make brace- 
lets, brooches, and 
necklaces. 

The little cousin 
from Tennessee 
made a chain of jet 
from the berries the mock orange 
of the mock orange tree, berries black as 
jet. 

The cousin from Georgia called the 
holly berries rubies, and we all made 

strings of those red "rubies." 

[61] 




GEMS OF THE GROVE 

For clusters of pearls we had the clear 
white berries of the mistletoe, but we 
had to wait till Christmas to wear those 
gems. The mistletoe grew so high that 
even the coast- country cousin would not 

venture to climb for 
them. But when 
the great clusters 
were brought down 
from the mighty 
oaks of our forest 
for Christmas dec- 
orations, then we 
gathered in our 
pearls. 

It was as we gath- 
ered these jewels 
and "set" them, or strung them, that 
we learned from Grown-up Cousin many 
things about the great and rare jewels 
of the earth. She told us something of 
the legends of some jewels over which 
even wars had been waged. 
We kept our treasures in boxes and 

[62] 




HOLLY AND MISTLETOS 



GEMS OF THE GROVE 

showed them with pride to all who 
would examine them, and we were sure 
that our grove jewels were better than 
any other kind in all the world. 



[63] 



GARDEN RUBIES 

I have told something of our jewel box 
filled with garden gems. There was one 
deep red jewel, small and perfectly 
round, which for a long time was an 
enchanting mystery to little Sister and 
me. There was only one place in our 
garden where these small red things 
were to be found. It was near the 
fence where was a border of scraggy 
arbor vitae trees. When we first dis- 
covered the wee treasure on the moss 
bed, I rushed with it to Mother. 

"What is it? Is it a real ruby? Is 
it worth four dollars? A million dollars? 
A thousand dollars?" I demanded all 
out of breath. 

"No, it is not a ruby; it is not worth 
money," Mother said, "but it is beauti- 
ful and that is enough to make it valued. 

Perhaps it is a seed brought by a bird 

[64] 



GARDEN RUBIES 

from a long distance and dropped on the 
moss in our garden." 

Brought from strange countries, and 
by a bird — how wonderful! Perhaps 
the little red thing 
had come from 
China and had 
crossed the ocean. 

Just then little 
Sister came in 
with three more 
of the tiny red 
things. Three! 
All at once! We 
had a mine of 
beauty if not of 
wealth. 

Grown-up Cousin hurried with us to 
the moss bed to try to solve the mys- 
tery of our garden rubies, but she could 
find nothing more to suggest than the 
bird. Little Sister and I expected any 
day to look up into the scraggy arbor 
vitae border and see there some gorgeous 

[65] 




THE BRAMBLE VINE 



GARDEN RUBIES 

bird adorned with chains of those rubies, 
which he might drop at our feet. Or 
we hoped, and almost expected, to see 
the moss roll back and show the en- 
trance to a glittering cavern where heaps 
and piles of red treasures awaited our 
eager hands. 

At last, quite by accident, and in the 
simplest way possible, the mystery was 
solved. Over the row of scraggy arbor 
vitae scrambled a thorny bramble vine, 
with few scattered leaves, not good for 
anything in our garden plays. The 
bramble, after its homely kind, bore a 
few small bunches of dull berries. As it 
happened, one day I picked up one of 
those dusky berries fallen from the vine, 
and idly tore off the dull husk. Then — 
I gasped — vanished all mystery! When 
the wrinkled husk was off, there was the 
deep red, beautiful seed. 

Of course I ran to the house at once 
to tell Mother and little Sister that I 
had found the ruby vine right in our 

[66] 



GARDEN RUBIES 

own yard, and that the vine was just a 
common old bramble that we had never 
noticed. 
A few days later the memory of our 




delight in the pretty mystery was fixed 
for all time, and it was Mother who 
gave us this happy memory! It was on 
Christmas eve, mild always in Alabama, 
and this day happily sunny, that she 

called us in from our play and, opening 

[ 67 ] 



GARDEN RUBIES 

a box just sent from the jeweler's, gave 
to each of us, my little Sister and 
myself, a tiny silver ring set with one 
of the deep red seeds from the ruby 
vine. 



[68] 



MIMOSA 



There was always something happening 
in our garden — something most unex- 
pected, yet something that we knew all 
about, my little Sister and I. 

We knew just how the great mimosa 
trees looked when 
they bloomed, but 
somehow we never 
quite expected the 
wealth of roseate 
blossoms. Perhaps 
we were too busy 
with other joys to 
note the signs of 
budding, that promise of bloom. Yet 
suddenly our inclosed garden would be 
full of perfume — a perfume that drifted 
everywhere, like an invisible cloud of 
fragrance, into every cranny and corner 

of the garden. That drifting fragrance 

[69] 




MIMOSA BLOSSOMS 



MIMOSA 
drew our eyes upward; and there, in- 
deed, we saw a cloud of filmy globes, 
rose and yellow tinted, massed in the 
lacy leaves of the mimosa trees. Each 
little bloom was like a powder-puff. 
Each little bloom tickled cheek and 







THE POWDERING ROOM 



chin just as powder-puffs did when they 
were fluttered over us after our cool 
baths. 

As soon as the mimosa bloomed, little 
Sister and I knew that it was the sea- 
son to play "Ladies in the Boudoir." 

[70] 



MIMOSA 
So in our favorite garden nooks we made 
haste to set out toilet tables. I had a 
"powdering room," and little Sister had 
a "powdering room." I gave a "bal 
poudre" to which little Sister came; 
and little Sister gave a "bal poudre" to 
which I came. Our chief pleasure and 
business at these balls was to retire 
often to the "powdering rooms" and 
play powdering face and hair with the 
perfumed powder-puffs. 

Such good times we had at our balls! 

We went calling, also, in mimosa bloom 
season. Who could resist going calling 
with a new green lace hat, and that 
trimmed in pompons of rose! We called 
on the old goose sitting under the cor- 
ner of the log storeroom. We called on 
the dog half asleep in his kennel. We 
called on the mocking-bird who had sung 
so many, many nights in the tall cedar 
that he was almost like a tame bird. 
He skipped about the limbs high above 

us and mocked the " cheep -cheep " of 

C 71 1 



MIMOSA 

young chickens while little Sister and I 
called upon him, wearing our best, very 
best spring bonnets. 

Oh, it was fun when the mimosa 
bloomed ! 



[72] 



WILD MIMOSA 



There was also a wild mimosa that 
bloomed later, hanging fairy-like fes- 
toons of lacy vines down banks and road- 
sides — vines that had small filmy puffs, 
like plush buttons, 
up and down their 
length. These puff- 
balls, like those of 
the cultivated mi- 
mosa, were rose- 
tinted, but they 
were not fragrant. 

The wild mimosa 
was so timid a little 
vine that it seemed 
strange to call it wild! Its very thorns, 
tiny and harmless, pricked with apolo- 
getic pricks. So frail a growth it was 
that it almost instantly wilted in the 
hand that gathered it. 

[?3] 




WILD MIMOSA 



WILD MIMOSA 

Somewhere little Sister and I had 
learned that if the filmy leaves were 
struck sharply they would all at once 
close quite tightly over the delicate stem, 
as if to protect it from harm. We never 
taught this to the cousin from Georgia, 
or to the coast-country cousin, or to the 
other little cousins who came to visit us, 
because we just couldn't bear to frighten 
the beautiful plant, not even for play. 

Grown-up Cousin told us that the wild 
mimosa is sometimes called the sensitive 
plant. 



[74] 



BONNETS 

"Let's play leaf-ladies!" The coast- 
country cousin never tired of that play: 
dressing up in leaves. 

"Oh, let's do!" cried the little cousin 
from Georgia, hopping up and down 
eagerly. 

So we made our- 
selves dresses with 
long trains, sashes, 
capes, and what not, 
with leaves pinned 
together by thorns. 
But the prettiest 
leaf- garments of all 
were the ones my 
little Sister wore at our leaf-lady par- 
ties. That was because she was too tiny 
to make her own leaf- clothes and we 
would take more pains for her than for 
ourselves. In those prettiest of leaf- 

[75] 




BONNETS 

dresses she looked as beautiful as any 
fairy of the woods. 

The crowning joy of our leaf- costumes 
was always the bonnet. In no garden 
grew such bonnet-making material as 
the great cucumber tree bore for us! 
Only we were charged not to break all 
the huge leaves, but only one for each 
of us. Those leaves were a foot across 
and often three feet long. One leaf, 
looped over the head and tied under the 
chin with a long blade of guinea grass 
or with a green vine, made a bonnet 
that was shady, cool, and delightful to 
wear. 

Mother told us that the cucumber tree 
is the same as the wild magnolia of our 
Southern hill country. 

"Long ago," she said, "when that 
great cucumber tree was but a tiny 
shoot, one of our people brought it with 
him from the hill country and trans- 
planted it here." 

After that, whenever we were making 

[76] 



BONNETS 

cucumber-leaf bonnets, we would say 
how glad we were that someone had 
cared enough for the baby cucumber 
tree to bring it from the hills and plant 
it in our garden. 




CUCUMBER-LEAF BONNETS 



[77] 



FLOWER-MARKETING 

"Does anybody want to buy 'butter'n' 
eggs ? 

"Has Mr. Grit Hass come?" cried the 
little coast-country cousin. 




"does anybody want to buy ' butter' n' eggs'?" 

When Mr. Grit Hass came to sell 
butter and eggs, always riding a calico 
pony, it was the signal for all of us 

to gather in the basement dining-room, 

[78] 



FLOWER-MARKETING 

where purchases from the country folk 
were conducted. 

"Not that sort of butter'n' eggs," said 
a soft little voice. "I sell mine for 
pins." 

Then we knew it was not real every- 
day selling, but the far more delightful 
play selling, so we began to hunt about 
for pins. It was a rule of the game that 
no one go to the pincushion for pins, 
and often we had to search a long time 
to find enough to do our shopping. But 
to-day when the little cousin from Ten- 
nessee had found three pins; and the 
cousin from Georgia had found no less 
than five; and when I had found one in 
the rug, we went to the door to buy — 
just whatever sort of butter'n' eggs were 
offered for sale. 

There at the door stood little Sister 
dressed as a market woman: on her head 
a large cucumber-leaf bonnet, tied under 
the chin with grass-blade strings; on her 

arm a little Indian basket made of cane 

[79] 



FLOWER-MARKETING 

and full of double daffodils. We always 
called them "butter'n eggs," those 
double daffodils, with their fluffy-ruffle 




SOUTHERN BUTTER N EGGS 



center of mingled dark and light yellow 
petals. 

We bought out the basket, and then 
we were so pleased with the play of 
flower-marketing that we all went to 
gather bunches to sell to the grown folks 
for pins. Grown-up Cousin and Some- 
body seemed always quite ready to 
buy. 

"I'll take four," said Somebody, feel- 
ing under the lapel of his coat for pins. 
The little coast-country cousin picked 
out the very nicest ones for him, and 

Somebody gave two of them to Grown- 

[80] 



FLOWER-MARKETING 

up Cousin, who wasn't able to find a 
pin anywhere about her dress. 

While little Sister fastened the flowers 
on Somebody's coat, he told us that quite 
another sort of flower is called "butter'n' 
eggs" by the children 
of the North. Imme- 
diately we ceased the 
marketing and gath- 
ered around Some- 
body, begging him to 
tell us a story about 
the North. He had 
lived in Massachu- 
setts and had come 
from there to take 
care of the plantation 
office. There always 
had to be some man to keep the plan- 
tation office books, and we children were 
glad it was Somebody because we liked 
him so! 

That day he told us that during the 

summer, along many a country road in 

[81] 




massachusetts 
'butter'n' eggs' 



FLOWER-MARKETING 

the North, the roadside glows in places 
with the yellow blossoms of a sort of 
wild snapdragon, which Northern chil- 
dren call "butter'n eggs." 



[82] 



LITTLE RED LAMBS 

" Where are you?" I had not seen my 
little Sister for hours. I feared she was 
getting lonesome without me. 

"Here I am!" Her high little voice 
came from some hidden spot in our 
garden. 

"What are you doing?" I called, be- 
cause now I knew that I felt lonely 
without her. 

"Feeding little lambs!" Her voice 
sounded both excited and satisfied! 

"Lambs?" I was already trying to 
guess the direction of her voice. 

"Yes! Little red lambs!" 

Whoever heard of little red lambs? 

"Where did you get them? Who gave 
them to you!" I had now caught sight 
of her sitting under the pomegranate 
hedge. 

"I found them. I made them. Here 
they are!" By this time I had reached 

[ 83 ] 



LITTLE RED LAMBS 

her and she was showing me a row of 
the fallen fruit ends of the scarlet pome- 
granate blooms. Those fallen calyxes 
had lost their crumpled corollas; so they 

would never bear 
fruit, but they 
still held their 
gorgeous color and 
their mystic seven 
points. 

Little Sister had 
broken off all but 
two of the points. 
Those two together 
stuck up quite like 
ears, and the stem end down in the grass 
did look something like the nibbling nose 
of a wee red lamb. 

It was a brand new play of her own, 
and now we tried all sorts of experi- 
ments with the fallen flowers. Some- 
times we left four points on; then the 
heads seemed to wear horns as well as 

ears. 

[84] 




POMEGRANATE BLOSSOMS 
AND FRUIT 



LITTLE RED LAMBS 

When we carried the "heads" into 
the house and with pen and ink marked 
eyes and little lines about the nose-tips, 
our lambs and kids were made to look 
some of them frolicsome, some shy, some 
frisky, and some really fierce. 

And so, during the flowering season of 
the pomegranate hedge, Sister and I 
made the little red lambs and made be- 
lieve feed them. 



[85] 



A GIFT FROM THE PRIDE OF 
CHINA TREES 

"Hurrah! Hurrah! The Pride of China 
trees are blooming!" 

One of those joyfully recognized, but 
always unexpected surprises of childhood 
was upon us. The air was full of a new 
fragrance. We wanted bunches, bunches, 
and bunches of those lovely blooms, with 
which to make amethyst necklaces. 

"Oh, how can we get them? How 
can we get them?" cried the coast -coun- 
try cousin gazing up into the blue and 
purple blossom-clouds that seemed to 
cover all our play world. 

"If we could climb, really truly climb!" 
— the little cousin from Georgia spread 
her arms about the big China tree, but 
they did not reach halfway round. 

"We must get someone who can 
climb," said the cousin from Tennessee. 

[86] 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

"Let little Sister go," said the cousin 
from north Alabama, who visited us less 
often than any other cousin, but who 




MAKING THE NECKLACES 



had learned that my little Sister's re- 
quests were almost never refused. 

'Little Sister, will you ask?" begged 
the coast-country cousin. 

"Ask? — what? — who?" said puzzled 
little Sister. 

[87] 



A SPRINGTIME GIFT 

"For someone to climb for us," ex- 
plained the coast-country cousin. 

"For one of the dining-room boys," 
said the cousin from Georgia. 

"For Yellow Tom," said the cousin 
from Tennessee, who was always plain- 
spoken, "he has just finished rubbing 
the knives." 

So little Sister went to the house and 
asked, and Yellow Tom was sent. 
Grown-up Cousin came, too, to be with 
us while the gathering went on. Yellow 
Tom, grinning and happy, "shinned up" 
the trees one after another. He pulled, 
and broke, and threw down boughs from 
this tree and from that, and would 
never have wanted to stop, but Grown- 
up Cousin stopped him when we had 
wagon loads of the clustering blossoms. 
The big cloud -like masses above us 
looked not one bit thinner, although 
when we dragged our branches together 
under one tree we seemed surrounded 

by a great drift of bloom. 

[88] 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

Then Yellow Tom went back to his 
work, Grown-up Cousin left us to join 
the other grown-ups, and we children 
began to make amethyst necklaces. 

This is the way we did it. In each 




gNl 4T 




AfeckJaae- 

from, bloom 
of 

Pride of China tree 

< , 



blue corolla there was a purple center. 
This center was on a slight green stamen 
running from the base of the corolla to 
the tip of the tube-like center. This 
purple shaded center we called the 
"bead." Its tube-like formation made it 
all ready for stringing. We had learned 
to draw the bead carefully from the 
green stamen in the center of the pale 
blue flower, and there it was — a shaded 

purple bead with a hole already through ! 

[89] 



A SPRINGTIME GIFT 

Only a little care, and these beads were 
strung on what we called "long-thread 
needles," and behold chain after chain 
of fairy-fine necklaces! These were the 
springtime gifts from the Pride of China 
trees. 



[90] 



SHOPPING 

"I live on Easy Street — " 
"Where money grows on trees 
"I have all I can spend — " 
"For anything I please." 




We used to make up songs like that as 
we got ready for a morning of shopping. 
One little cousin would sing the first 
line, another would sing the second, 
and so on. 

[91] 



SHOPPING 

This particular morning the coast- 
country cousin and the cousin from 
Tennessee were the ones to set out the 
bargain counters to tempt the rest of 
us. They were busily arranging their 
wares — broken crockery, prisms from 
old chandeliers, rosy pebbles, blue 
pebbles, and many other things we 
valued. 

Meanwhile the rest of us were gather- 
ing in the "coin of the realm," as Some- 
body called the play money. One small 
rose leaf was a penny; a violet leaf was 
a nickel; a bay leaf, a quarter of a dol- 
lar; a magnolia leaf, a dollar. 

When the coast- country cousin and the 
cousin from Tennessee had "sold out," 
then we possessed the treasures, and 
they the heaps of money. So next day 
the little cousin from Georgia and I set 
out the bargains. The cousin from north 
Alabama and little Sister were clerks. 
The coast-country cousin and the cousin 

from Tennessee gathered the "money 

[92] 



SHOPPING 

that grows on trees," and came to do 
the shopping. 

Once Somebody shopped with us and 
taught us about English coins and what 
each one is worth in American money. 
We learned to shop quite readily with 
those make-believe pennies, shillings, 
and pounds, though all our leaf- money 
was really nothing but "greenbacks," 
as Somebody laughingly told us. 



[93] 



MAKING BUTTERFLIES 

There was no game that we loved more 
than making butterflies. When the 
bright autumn leaves were falling and 
drifting everywhere, we gathered these 




BUTTERFLIES 



leaves by the apronful — some red, some 
yellow, some spotted, as are the wings 
of butterflies. Then we picked plenty 
of brown, prickly cockle-burs. To make 
a butterfly we fastened one of those gay 
autumn leaves on each side of a bur, 
using slender thorns for pins. There! 
Our play butterflies looked wonderfully 

real ! 

[94] 



MAKING BUTTERFLIES 

"If only they could fly!" exclaimed 
the coast- country cousin. 

Thereupon the cousin from Tennessee 
threw her butterfly up in the air and 
away it sailed. It chanced to light on 
the shoulder of my little Sister, and 
there the pretty thing fluttered with 
every move she made. It waved its 
leaf- wings gently with every passing 
breeze. We cried out in 
delight, one and all of us. 
Little Sister was the most 
delighted of all. Then we 
made butterflies quickly 
and tossed them toward 
her, trying to toss one 
onto her other shoulder. 
A great one with wings 
of golden leaves lit on her 
arm. Oh, how graceful it looked as it flut- 
tered there! We made butterflies as fast 
as we could — and we threw them, with 
careful aim, at little Sister until dozens of 
the beautiful things clung to her apron. 

[95] 




MAKING BUTTERFLIES 

Then we led her to the grown folks, 
for them to see. When they saw how 
pretty and dainty she looked, with her 
dress all decked with the fluttering but- 
terflies, they, too, cried out delightedly, 
just as we children had done. 

After that we loved the game more 
than ever. We made hundreds of the 
leaf butterflies and threw them to light 
on one another's skirts, being careful 
never to let a cockle-bur butterfly get 
into a little girl's hair. 

When our dresses were trimmed with 
the bright, wavy things, we went shop- 
ping, or calling, and sometimes we even 
played at having a ball. 



[96] 



CHINKAPINS 

"Which nuts do you like best?" asked 
the little coast- country cousin. 

"I believe I like walnuts best of all," 
answered the cousin from Georgia. 

"They're all so black and dirty! 
They're all so black and dirty!" sang 
the cousin from Tennessee, because the 
walnuts we spoke of were the great 
black ones with the rusty, rough coats. 

"But they are good to eat and taste 
best," declared the cousin from Georgia. 

"Only you can't make anything of 
them," said the north Alabama cousin, 
except nut cake, and candy, and pickle." 

"And that's enough!" exclaimed one 
little cousin. 

"But we mean toys like the hickory- 
nut women, and the cradles and boats," 
said the cousin from north Alabama. 

"We can't expect to play with every- 
thing!" asserted the coast-country cousin. 

[97] 



CHINKAPINS 

"There are scaly-barks," suggested 
little Sister. 

"Just like the hickory nuts, only 
nicer," added the coast-country cousin. 

"And the pecans!" from the Ten- 
nessee cousin. "We can play making 
pigs with them, making them as we do 
lemon pigs; but they are so hard to 
make!" 

"Oh, the chinkapins!" sang my little 
Sister. 

At that, all of us clapped our hands, 
a happy chorus, for that very morning 
Grown-up Cousin had told us that 
chinkapins were opening and that if 
Somebody could be . spared from the 
plantation office business she and he 
would take us to the edge of the big 
woods where the chinkapin trees grew. 
There Somebody, with a pole, would 
thrash down some of the nuts. That 
would be joy for us, oh, such joy! 

"And we will look for chinkapins!" 

cried the little cousin from Tennessee. 

[98] 



CHINKAPINS 

"And chinkapins will look at us!" 
said the coast-country cousin, opening her 
eyes wide and shrinking her shoulders. 

" Oo ! Oo ! Ooo ! Ooo-ooo ! " cried we all. 

"Aren't their eyes bright?" 

"Don't they peep sharply out from 
behind those prickly 



eyelashes?" -^ ^ 

"Dozens of black *9^M%MaM 
eyes in each bunch %m$>^- ^ 



nf hlir^J " "like bright eyes" 

"And when they drop out from the 
burs to the ground at the thrashing, 
then — !" 

"Don't they peep up at us from the 
leaves!" 

"Don't tell!" 

"We won't tell!" 

That was what we said one to another 
when the season came round for the burs 
to open. No eyes ever looked brighter 
to us than the chinkapins looked as they 
shone down at us from the open and 
half-opened burs, or shone up at us 

C 99 ] 



CHINKAPINS 

from the leaves and the moss beds. We 
looked for them, and they looked at us. 
But only to us did those bright nuts 
look like eyes. Even to Grown-up Cousin 
they were only nuts. We never told 
her how those chinkapins played peep- 
bo at us, for that was one of our secrets ! 

That afternoon we had our chinkapin 
hunt according to promise. When the 
hunt was over, we counted our "hun- 
dreds." That was the way we always 
counted chinkapins — by hundreds. The 
success of the hunt was determined by 
the number of hundreds of chinkapins 
gathered in„ 

While the chinkapins were fresh and 
raw, they sparkled brightly, and we 
made long necklaces of them — strings 
that reached, if there were many hun- 
dreds, far down, even to our waists and 
sometimes below. 

As the chinkapins dried, the shells be- 
came duller, but the kernels within be- 
came sweeter. The nuts when boiled 

[ ioo] 



CHINKAPINS 

looked duller still; they were delicious to 
eat, however — so mealy- tasting ! Some- 
times we boiled the nuts after we had 
strung them. Then, though our neck- 
laces were quite dull, we thought them 
almost as pretty as the sparkling ones. 
But whichever way we used them, they 
were "very tasty necklaces," as Grown- 
up Cousin said! 



[101] 




CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

"The chestnuts are looking at us," cried 
the little cousin from Georgia. 

"With big sleepy eyes," 
sang the coast-country 
cousin. 
a chestnut and "We'll go pick up the eyes 

A CHINKAPIN 

when they drop out of the 
sockets," said the cousin from Tennessee. 

"And the eyelashes hang empty on the 
trees," chimed in the north Alabama 
cousin. 

"That scares me," said little Sister, 
hiding her face in my white apron. 

"What's the matter?" asked Grown-up 
Cousin, who was walking just then to 
the circular seat beneath the largest of 
the chestnut trees, where the grove 
meets the foot of our garden. 

We air made a little secret sign that 

meant among ourselves: "Don't tell!" 

C 102] 



CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

- Of course not one of us would have told, 
not for mints of money, not even my 
little Sister. We always preserved our 
secrets. If the grown-up people did not 
sense that sleepy gaze that fell from the 
half-opened bur of a chestnut and recog- 
nize those bright glances of the chinka- 
pins, it was no business of ours to tell 
them. If nuts were just nuts to them, 
and not eyes, that was their affair. 

44 We were talking of chestnuts," said 
the little cousin from Georgia. 

"We think they must be opening," 
said the cousin from Tennessee. 

"Let's go see," cried the north Ala- 
bama cousin. 

"If you will bring me a large chest- 
nut and five chinkapins," said Grown-up 
Cousin, "I will show you how to make 
cats and mice dwell together in amity." 

There were no chinkapin trees in the 
grove; so we ran to the house for the 
left-over nuts that we had not used 
the day before when stringing our chin- 

[ io3 ] 



CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

kapin beads. Grown-up Cousin had told 
us that for "cats and mice in amity" 
she must have chinkapins through which 
no needle had passed. When we had 




MAKING "CATS AND MICE IN AMITY " 

found five such nuts, we hurried back 
to the circular seat where Grown-up 
Cousin, still busy with her sewing, was 
waiting for us. We dropped the chinka- 
pins into her lap and ran to look for the 
needed big chestnut. It did not take us 

long to find that one and more. 

[io4] 



CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

"Now cats!" cried the cousin from 
Georgia as she put three fat chestnuts in 
Grown-up Cousin's hand. 

"And mice," said the coast-country 
cousin, adding two others. 

"A card — " said Grown-up Cousin, 
"has anyone a card?" 

Now which of us would have a card 
out under the chestnut tree! It seemed 
that there must be another trip to the 
house before we could see, "cats and 
mice in amity" — whatever that meant! 

But often help comes at the last ditch, 
so we had heard. And sure enough, 
Somebody came along and gave Grown- 
up Cousin an unused stiff envelope; by 
cutting it carefully she made the plain 
side serve for a card. 

Upon this card Grown-up Cousin 
sewed the largest one of the chestnuts 
we had brought her. On the broad end 
of the nut she drew a cat's face. 

Some threads run through the face on 

each side, but clipped so as to stand out 

[io5] 



CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

stiff, made fierce moustaches upon Sir 
Gat. The little tail of the pointed end 
of the chestnut swung out on the card, 
and Grown-up Cousin said: "There is 
your cat, tail and all." 



CAT AND MICE IN AMITY 



Then Grown-up Cousin sewed to the 
card five chinkapins with their points 
sticking up. With her fountain pen she 
drew on the card funny little ears, two 
to each chinkapin, ears pointing this 
way and that way. She happened to 
have some ends of colored pencils in her 
workbasket; so she chose a red stub and 
drew eyes on the chinkapins. Through 
the tips of the nuts she ran threads for 
whiskers. 

"There are your mice!" said Grown- 
up Cousin. 

Sure enough, those Chinkapins looked 

[ 106 ] 



CHESTNUTS AND CHINKAPINS 

just like little mice peeping up out of 
holes at Sir Gat, who was all agrin be- 
tween his whiskers. 

"Now you see cat and mice in lasting 
friendship," said Grown-up Gousin. So, 
without asking, we learned the meaning 
of amity. 

We ran as fast as we could to the 
house to find more chinkapins loose from 
strings, and to ask for cards, and to get 
pencils. Then what a wonderful time 
we had making our own "cats and mice 
in amity"! 



[ 107] 



A TOY OF AUTUMN 

"Hear our money! Hear our money!" 

Of course we had to listen when the 
little coast- country cousin said that. We 
were in the midst of a great sedge field, 
and we all remembered that Somebody 
had told us that such sedge is worth 
nothing at all. Worth nothing! — yet 
from our windows they glistened like 
gold, those fields of sedge! Whenever 
we reached them in our walks, we would 
be newly surprised to find those fields 
dull colored like coarse, dry grass, with- 
out any golden luster. 

Well, here was the coast- country 
cousin, who surely had left home with 
empty hands, shaking her closed fists and 
crying: "Hear our money! Hear our 
money!" She said our money, not my 
money. We were not surprised at that, 
for the coast- country cousin was always 

ready to divide any treasure found. Now 

[108] 



A TOY OF AUTUMN 
surely she had found money, or some- 
thing that sounded like money, for as 
she shook her fists, something within did 
rattle like a handful of picayunes — or 
maybe like silver three-cent pieces. Any- 
way it was treasure trove in the sedge 
field, and we all started to search for 
hidden wealth. 

" Easy money in early autumn ! " laughed 
Grown-up Cousin. 

We had been told that little if any- 
thing will grow in an old sedge field ; but 
now looking carefully we did see some- 
thing growing here and there amidst 
the tufts of rough sedge between the 
water rows that wrinkled the ground. 
It was a small wild vetch with its wee 
pink bloom — just a bright pea flower, 
worth but little more than the sedge. 
But as our feet touched the vetch vines, 
we heard an odd rattling sound. We 
soon discovered that the rattle came from 
the ripe pods, which looked like small 

oblong boxes, some dark brown, some al- 

[ 109] 



A TOY OF AUTUMN 

most black. We ^called them rattle-boxes, 
those queer seed pods of the vetch! Of 
course, we all began to hunt for rattle- 
boxes and to shout, "Hear our money!" 
as we shook them in our fists. 

In order to secure 
the best "rattlers," we 
had to be very careful 
as we picked them to 
choose those that were 
ripe enough, but not 
too ripe, for those that 
were not ripe enough 
would not rattle clear- 
ly, and those that were 
too ripe popped open 
and spilled the seed. 

So here was the source of that sound 
as of jingling coin and wealth — almost 
worthless vetch, perhaps, but what joy 
it brought us! 




VETCH BLOSSOMS 
AND SEED PODS 



[no] 




THE HYACINTH SPELL 

It was when the earliest flowers of our 
garden were blooming. The little cousin 
from Tennessee was puzzled about the 
way flowers kept blooming and blooming 
even though grown-up people had kept 
saying it was winter. And now she 
came skipping down the garden walk 
singing: "I can spell! I can spell!" As 
she sang, she kept swinging a staff of 
hyacinth bells, swinging that staff of 
bells back and forth as if they really 

could ring. But even though they could 

[in] 



THE HYACINTH SPELL 

not sound a single note, they did send 
out a most delicious fragrance. 

"I can spell!" that cousin from Ten- 
nessee kept singing till all of us had 
heard her. 

"It's not time for lessons," said the 
little cousin from Georgia. 

"L-u-c-i-n-d-a A-1-i-c-i-a B-r-o-w-n!" 
spelled the cousin from Tennessee, and 
then she cried, "Eighteen!" as if it were 
Arithmetic time, too! 

"That's nothing!" pouted the cousin 
from Georgia, for it was her name that 
the Tennessee cousin had spelled. 

"It's not nothing!" cried the Tennes- 
see cousin. "It is a very sweet name of 
a nice little girl," and she began again, 
putting a rosy finger tip on each 
hyacinth bell as she sang the letters: 
"L-u-c-i-n-d-a — " 

"Oh, I see!" and now the cousin from 
Georgia was as pleased as she had been 
teased before at the calling out of the 
letters of her own name. 

[112] 



THE HYACINTH SPELL 

4 'Oh, I see, too!" cried the coast- 
country cousin, and she ran to the hya- 
cinth border looking for a staff of bells 
that would spell: " A-r-a-m-i-n-t-a A-r-e- 
t-h-u-s-a G-a-r-r." 

Then one by one we 
all cried, "Oh, I see!" 
and ran to the borders 
where hyacinths were 
blooming, looking 
each one for a staff of 
bells that would spell 
her own, her very 
own name, or the 
name of the one she 
loved most. 

"Oh, I think this is 
the best of plays!" exclaimed the little 
cousin from Georgia. And Grown-up 
Cousin, who had been watching us, smil- 
ingly added: 

"It is a play that counts!" 

Presently the littlest cousin ran to 
where we were searching the borders. 

[n3] 




HYACINTH BLOSSOMS 



THE HYACINTH SPELL 

When she saw what we were doing, she 
called: "Me, too!" Little Sister, run- 
ning hand in hand with her, cried: "Put 
a spell on me, too!" 

So it was that ever after that we called 
finding staves of hyacinth bells that 
spelled names: "Putting on a spell." 
It was a sweet, powerful spell of love 
upon anyone who was very dear to us. 

It was not strange that a stem with 
six bells spelled for every one of us the 
name that was sweetest and dearest to 
each — different for each one of us, 
maybe, but sweetest and dearest to all 
— for the word that the six bells spelled 
was always: M-O-T-H-E-R. 



C«4] 



FIELD FLOWERS 

"Chick-chick! Ghick-oo-oo ! " chirped the 
little cousin from Georgia. 

"Why do you say that?" asked the 
cousin from Tennessee. 

"Because the chickweed is in bloom." 

"Still I don't see why you call chick- 
ens," pouted the little cousin from Ten- 
nessee, who did not like to be puzzled. 

"Because Grown-up Cousin told me 
yesterday that the little white star 
flowers are like wee chicks. The plant 
is like the mother hen, and at night, or 
in the daytime when it's raining, the 
plant folds its leaves about the tiny blos- 
soms just as the hen covers her brood; 
that is what Grown-up Cousin said." 

It was wonderful, we thought. We 
almost — almost, not quite — wished for 
rain, that we might see the plant care 
for its little white star blooms. At the 

hint of a cloud we used to run to the 

[n5] 



FIELD FLOWERS 

unweeded places in the garden and in- 
closure and watch the leaves fold about 
the flower. That was play for us all the 
short season that the little weedling 
bloomed. 
We only half forgot the chick weed and 
its tender, loving 
ways when the bluets 
opened. They came so 
suddenly, just a faint 
tint of blue on the 
grass, as if the home 
field had caught a re- 
flection from the far- 
off sky. How we did 

BLUETS l Qve J^Qgg £ m y gtarS 

of blue! When Somebody told us they 
were called quaker-ladies where he lived, 
we thought how sweet the real Quaker 
ladies must be to have those dainty 
blooms named for them: quaker-ladies! 

Just after the bluets came the evening 
primrose. We called it a buttercup. 
But Somebody told us we were wrong. 

[116] 




FIELD FLOWERS 

It was a primrose, a rough, tough little 
primrose. It was a brave little bloom. 
It opened up its yellow disk as the sun 
set. We thought it had a bold and 
worthy desire to keep 
alive, through the 
night hours, the mem- 
ory and the likeness 
of the golden and 
round sun that had 
slipped away out of 
sight. 

One afternoon while 
we were half thinking, 
half talking our fancies about the small 
flowers, which we were gathering in 
great bunches, the cousin from north 
Alabama asked: 

"Do you love butter?" 

What could she mean, we wondered 
— the coast-country cousin and I, who 
were farthest from her? 

"Do you love butter?" she asked 

again, running to my little Sister and 

[117] 




A PRIMROSE 



FIELD FLOWERS 

holding one of the primroses under her 
chin. Then answering her own question, 
the north Alabama cousin exclaimed: 
"Yes, you do love butter!" 
"I do," said little Sister soberly. 
"How did you know?" I demanded, 
for I had come up, as always, to know 
everything, just everything that hap- 
pened ever, anywhere, to my little 
Sister. But instead of replying to my 

question, the 
north Alabama 
cousin poked a 
primrose under 
my chin, saying: 
"Do you love 
butter?" 

Before I had 
time to answer, 
she declared: 
"Yes, you do 
— because your chin is yellow when I 
hold the buttercup under it!" 

So that was it! 

[118] 




'do you love butter?" 



FIELD FLOWERS 

We liked that play, and we held the 
little primrose up first under this one's 
chin, and then under that one's chin, 
calling, "Do you love butter?" 
until we were called in to get 
bread and butter — with honey 
on it! 

Later in the summer the 
blue toadflax bloomed in our 
old field. We had no play for 
this. We only fancied that 
the frogs had started to spin 
flax at night ; that morning 
had caught them at their task, 
so they had left their work 
hastily; then somehow the 
shuttles of half-wound flax 
had turned into delicate blue flowers 
growing on slender stems. 

One day when we had gathered our 
bunches of toadflax, we strolled farther 
down the field. 

"Oh," cried the coast-country cousin, 

"here is rabbit tobacco!" 

[119] 



BLUE 
TOADFLAX 



FIELD FLOWERS 

We all gathered around her as she 
picked a fuzzy leaf from a small white- 
green weed. 

"What is it good for?" asked the 
cousin from Tennessee. 

"Do rabbits really smoke it?" inquired 
the north Alabama cousin. 

"I'm sure I don't know," the coast- 
country cousin, replied. "I don't sup- 
pose they do. But this is good for a 
play." 

"What? Tell us what," cried the 
cousin from Tennessee. 

"It's good to answer questions." 

"Whose questions?" 

"Anyone's," the coast-country cousin 
told us. 

"I'll ask it one," declared the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

"Do," said the coast-country cousin. 

"Is it going to rain to-day? I am 
sure it is." 

"Now look!" commanded the coast- 

[120] 



FIELD FLOWERS 

country cousin. She held the whitish 
green leaf in thumb and forefinger of 
her left hand and took its other end in 
thumb and forefinger of the right hand 
and gently pulled the leaf in two parts. 
The leaf was so young and its fibers 
so strong that it broke but slowly and 
its broken edges were as ragged as if it 
had been woven of cotton fibers. We all 
looked with interest at the breaking of 
the leaf. 

"It answers: Yes," said the coast- 
country cousin, "so we shall 
have to hurry home!" 

But we stayed a few min- 
utes to ask questions of the 
answering leaves that we 
had just found. 

If the leaf were young, 
and if the fingers pulled 
very carefully, making 
ragged edges, the answer was always: 
Yes. If the leaf were older, and if the 




RABBIT 
TOBACCO 



[iai] 



FIELD FLOWERS 

fingers pulled quickly, making the torn 
edges straighter, then the leaf snapped: 
No. We learned that in our play with 
the leaves of the weed we called rabbit 
tobacco. 



[ 122] 



UP AND DOWN THE LILY LINE 

* ' Sweet, sweet, sweet ! Do you want 
to smell something sweet?" The little 
cousin from Georgia ran toward us 
with hands behind her back. 

"Of course we do. / do," answered 
the cousin from Tennessee, coming for- 
ward with her pert turned -up nose ready 
for a whiff of sweetness. 

The cousin from Georgia swiftly 
whisked from behind her a full-blown 
white lily. We had* not known that they 
were blooming. The Tennessee cousin 
bent farther over to smell, and the 
cousin from Georgia touched the lily 
against her nose. 

"There!" When the cousin from Ten- 
nessee looked up in surprise at the 
thrust, the tip of her nose was as yellow 
as gold! 

"It's a play," explained the cousin 
from Georgia hastily, for she feared that 

[ 123 ] 



UP AND DOWN THE LILY LINE 

she might have hurt the feelings of the 
Tennessee cousin. 
"Oh, I see," cried the coast-country 




GOLDEN NOSES 



cousin, coming gallantly into the play, 
"but nobody knows you with your 
golden nose!" 

"Let's all go get golden noses!" cried 
the cousin from north Alabama. So we 
hastened to the lily line where, sure 
enough, many lilies showed their golden 
hearts held fast in their long, white 
finger-petals — or it seemed to us they 

did, those lilies. Up and down the line 

[ 124 ] 



UP AND DOWN THE LILY LINE 

we went, thrusting our own faces into 
the lilies, or having them pushed in by a 
hand behind us — for we had all begun 
to think it fun by this time — until 
every nose among us was as yellow as 
gold. Then we ran to show Grown-up 
Cousin the result of our new play. 

"Why," she cried when she saw us 
coming, "you must have found where 
the goose lays her golden eggs and have 
all peeped into the nest!" 

Then she told us a pretty story of the 
stamen and the pollen of lilies, explain- 
ing that the white cups of the lilies do 
indeed hold, as it were, nests full of 
golden eggs to bring to earth a wealth 
of beauty and perfume. 

So after that we played our game 
sometimes, and here and there, with lilies 
on the line. We took care not to spoil 
all the golden eggs in the snow-white 
nests. 

[125] 



SWEET SHRUBS 

" Sweet shrubs in bloom!" my little 
Sister smiled at us out of the depths of 
her white sunbonnet. 

"Then it is sure-enough spring," de- 
clared the coast-country cousin. 

There is not any odor more alluring 
than the perfume of the little brown 
flower that grows wild along the branches, 
or brooks, of Alabama — the sweet 
shrub. 

Somebody had told us that the plant 
had been transplanted and was to be 
found in gardens as far north as Long 
Island, and that it was there called 
calycanthus. We thought that very in- 
teresting, and we wondered if our little 
wild flower felt at home in those far 
gardens and if it smelled as sweet by 
that other name. 

Anyway, it seemed real spring to us 

when we could go to the small streams 

[126] 



SWEET SHRUBS 

that ran through our fields and in- 
cisures and there look for sweet shrubs. 
How beautifully exciting it was to us to 
catch the first faint odor of the blos- 
soms! Then the joy of the hunt, as we 
darted here, there, every- 
where, through the fresh 
green of new-leafed 
shrubs! Oh, the delight 
of coming upon a bush 
taller than any one of 
us — taller than Grown- 
up Cousin, who was 
quite tall — taller even 
than Somebody, who was taller still — a 
bush full of brown blossoms, small and 
sweet ! 

We had a way of gathering these 
blooms without the stems and tying 
bunches of them in our handkerchiefs. 

"It is a heathenish way to do with 
flowers!" exclaimed Somebody. 

"It is not so heathenish," declared 

Grown-up Cousin, defending our South- 

[ 127] 




CALYCANTHUS 




SWEET SHRUBS 

ern way. "It is just making sachet- 
bags." 

"Oh, I see," said Somebody. 

"But we have another way," the little 
cousin from north 
Alabama told him. 
As she said that, she 
plucked and handed 
Somebody a spray of 
sweet shrub with 
seven blooms on it. 
Grown-up Cousin 
smilingly touched the blossoms one after 
the other, and as she touched them she 
said in order the letters of Somebody's 
Christian name. 

"Oh, I see," Somebody said again. 
"That is a pretty custom!" 

What a good time we had gathering 
sweet shrubs for sachets, and also in 
sprays to spell our own and each others' 
names ! 



SWEET SHRUB SACHET 



[128] 



REINS 




CLOVER REINS 

"Glover's come," announced the cousin 
from Georgia. She was so keen-eyed 
that she was nearly always the first to 
find the new blooms. "In the near 
field," she added, waving her hand for 
us to follow, and now she was away to 
gather the blooms. 

We had a fine play with the clovers 
that grew in the rich "near field" — 
those clovers with the long, strong stems. 
We gathered the blossoms with all the 
length of the stem. Then we tied a 
stem about a flower, then a stem about 
a flower, again and again and again, 
until we had a long string of green 
stems evenly dotted with white clover 

blooms. 

[ 129] 



REINS 

These were our reins. With these 
reins, flowery fair and light, we made 
believe drive wild horses over the near 
field and sometimes to the very door of 
the house and within. Our wild horses 
were ourselves! Oh, it was fun to be a 
prancing, dancing pony, shaking glossy 
locks and curls for tossing manes! But 
it was just as much fun to hold the 
reins, and bid the fiery steed go here, 
go there! 

So we worked in pairs when we made 
our clover chains for reins: a horse and 
a driver working together. Then we 
took turns at the reins, each one playing 
first horse and then driver. That was a 
jolly play, which lasted all clover-bloom 
time. 



[i3o] 



WILLOW WHIPS 

"I must have a whip. My horse is so 
frisky!" The little cousin from Georgia 
never knew stop or stay to her play. 




; Vo-oe^ Z'.c-f$y- Mi '// 



MAKING WILLOW WHIPS 



She was always thinking-up, inventing, 
adding to her games. 

"Not to whip with!" The coast- 
country cousin was always quick with 
kindness. 

"Oh, no, of course not, 'cause I'm a 

frisky pony myself." 

[ i3i ] 



WILLOW WHIPS 

"Just to snap!" suggested the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

"I remember I heard Somebody say 
that he made fine willow whips when he 
was a boy," the cousin from north Ala- 
bama reminded us. 

4 'As soon as he leaves the office, let's 
ask him to show us how he made them," 
cried the cousin from Georgia. 

And so we did. 

And so he did. 

After he had cut many long, slim wil- 
low switches, he seated himself on a 
grassy bank above the sandy river- 
bottom where the willows grew, and 
with the bundle of switches beside him, 
showed us this way to make willow 
whips : 

First he peeled back the green bark 
of the switches in four sections, as far 
as the handle of the whip was to come. 
Next he cut carefully from the handle 
that portion of the wood from which 
the bark had been peeled, leaving still 

[l32] 



WILLOW WHIPS 

on the staff the long four sections, or 
strings, of bark. Then, while he held 
the handle firmly, Grown-up Cousin 
braided the strips of green willow bark 
into a stout four-plait. 



A WILLOW WHIP MAKING AND MADE 

When we girls tried the plaiting, we 
found that it must be done with great 
care so that the strips of new bark 
should not be broken from the handle. 

They were fine toys when well made, 
those green willow whips! 



[133: 




THE GOURD VINE 



IN THE ROSE HEDGES 

There were hedges of Cherokee roses all 
about the plantation; but they were so 
briary that they did not seem to us chil- 
dren good for much except for guineas 

to lay their eggs in. 
When the many 
guinea hens chose 
to make nests away 
back in the dark, 
thorny recesses of those hedges, the eggs 
were pretty sure not to be disturbed — 
no, not even with a long- handled gourd 
hollowed out, for that was the only safe 
and sure way to take eggs from a guinea- 
nest and not disturb the speckled hen. 

Those Cherokee hedges, with their 
earliest spring and summer-long beauty of 
white-star-rose bloom, we called "quite- 
wild" hedges. The hedges we liked 
best were the half- wild ones on the 

outer reaches of our garden. These were 

[i34] 



IN THE ROSE HEDGES 

rich with the big blossoms of the Balti- 
more Belle, the Solfatara, and the Mal- 
maison. They were beginning to bloom 
now, great, odorous blossoms hanging 
out over cedar limbs and over swinging 
sprays of vine. 

"Let's sell candy!" suggested the little 
cousin from Tennessee. 

"What sort?" asked the cousin from 
Georgia. 

" Bose- candy," the Tennessee cousin 
explained. 

Then we ran to our favorite play- place 
under the half- wild rose hedges and 
began to cut rose-candy. Every 
Southern child knows what rose- 
candy is — those succulent rosy or 
yellow shoots that the rose tree or 
vine puts forth for the next year's 
growth and blooming. dipper 

"I have a good lot," said the cousin 
from Georgia, showing her sticks of 
candy evenly cut and done up in pack- 

[i35] . 



GOURD 



IN THE ROSE HEDGES 

ages as real candy is in stores; and we 
knew, every one of us, the sweetish acid 
taste of that rose- candy. 

"Now let's sell," 
said the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

"Sell what?" 
It was Grown-up 
Cousin who asked 
the question. She 
happened to be 
coming, at that 
moment, through 
a gap in the half-wild rose hedges. 

"Rose-candy!" we exclaimed in a 
chorus, delighted to find a customer so 
soon. But instead of buying our wares 
Grown-up Cousin cried out in dismay: 
"Oh, dreadful! dreadful!" 
We had done something wrong — we 
wondered what! 

"Oh, sad, sad, sad!" repeated Grown- 
up Cousin. 

The rose- candy wilted in our hands as 

[i36] 




IN THE ROSE HEDGES 

she told us how much bloom and fra- 
grance we had filched from the future by. 
cutting all that rose- candy. 

"Never mind," she said, seeing how 
sorry we felt. Grown-up Cousin never 
could bear to see anybody in trouble. 
"I will teach you a play that will neither 
hurt nor harm," she continued, "and it 
is a sort of bang! fire! pop! play, too!" 

We were eager at once to know of a 
play like that. 

" Now, each one of you bring me the 
biggest rose you can find," said Grown- 
up Cousin. ' ' Let it be nearly ready to 
shatter." 

My little Sister brought hers first — a 
handful of crumpled petals, for she had 
no sooner seized the bloom of a rose 
than it had shattered in her soft little 
hand. 

"See here," said Grown-up Cousin, 
and she took one of the largest petals 
and carefully folded it into a little bag, 
or balloon. Then, "May I?" she asked 

[i3 7 ] 



IN THE ROSE HEDGES 

with a smile and struck it on little Sis- 
ter's forehead. 

"Pop!" The petal broke with a sound 
like a shot. 

We all ran up with our full-blown 
roses, and Grown-up Cousin showed each 
of us how to fold a petal into a balloon 
and how to shoot off that balloon by 
striking it on forehead or chin or the 
back of a tightly closed hand. Often, 
after that, we played bang! fire! pop! in 
the rose hedges, and Grown-up Cousin 
called it our "War of the Roses." 



[i38] 



ROSE PETALS 




THE ROSE-JAR 



"Are you gathering 
rose petals to play 
bang! fire! pop!?" 
my little Sister asked 
Grown-up Cousin as 
she went about fill- 
ing a small basket 
with the petals of 
roses ready to shatter. At the same 
time she picked off also the stem where 
the roses had been, and threw that to 
the earth. 

"No," answered Grown-up Cousin, "I 
am going to make a potpourri of rose 
petals, spices, and volatile salts." She 
was going to put the petals all in a rose- 
jar, she told us, and carefully seal up 
the jar; then next year, and the year 
after that, and for many years beyond, 
she could open the jar and catch the 
fragrance of the very roses that the little 

[ i3o ] 



ROSE PETALS 

cousins had seen in flower during their 
happy bygone playtimes. 

' 'How fine!" said the cousin from 
Tennessee, and we planned at once to 
fill a rose- jar ourselves. 

Grown-up Cousin told us, also, how 
we could scatter daily in our bureau 
drawers and our boxes and trunks a few 
petals of roses about to shatter or al- 
ready wilting, and how the petals would 
perfume faintly every article of clothing 
in those receptacles. She told us that 
at the end of summer we could gather 
up all those petals thus slowly dried in 
darkness, and could fill a pillow with 
them. Then all winter long that pillow 
would hold the fragrance of spring. 

Later she showed us how to make a 
confection of rose petals by dropping the 
freshest, "ripest" ones with a quick, 
deft fling into boiling sugar-syrup. 
These lifted out — oh, so carefully — 
were found to retain their color, to be 

finely crumpled, and to be coated with 

[ i4o ] 



ROSE PETALS 

a crisp frost of sparkling crystallized 
sugar. Rose-candy that, indeed! 

Later, much later, the same Grown- 
up Cousin showed little Sister and me 
how to make lovely beads of rose petals. 

Thus the frail rose petals would pro- 
long for us many of the delights of the 
springtime and the long summer days. 



[i4i] 



VIOLET BALLS 

"The whole place is blue!" the little 
cousin from Tennessee cried delightedly. 
Ever since the Christmas holidays she 
had been asking, "When is winter com- 
ing?" — because in Alabama throughout 
the winter months the forests and groves 
are green with magnolia, mock orange, 
and other evergreen trees; also, because 
every day of the year flowers bloomed 
in our Alabama garden. Now she had 
announced excitedly that something, the 
whole of something, was blue! 

It was the violet border! There were 
violets of many sorts in that garden. 
There was the small sparkling kind, 
blooming abundantly, but sending forth 
scarcely any fragrance. Then there were 
the dim blue ones, the most fragrant of 
all; tiny and crumpled they were, hiding 
all but their perfume under round, 
woolly leaves. Those that the little 

[i4a] 



VIOLET BALLS 

cousin from Tennessee had found so 
blue were the long-stemmed, large- 
flowered ones. 

We had no play for the violets, unless 
it was to make a single 
one serve for a flower- 
lady's hat: a hat of 
crumpled purple velvet 
placed on the stem of a 
rose set upside down. 

Our chief delight was 
making violet balls: 
round bunches of bloom 
with never a leaf of green. While we 
were making them, we decided among 
ourselves as to the person to whom each 
one should give her particular ball, for 
an important part of our play of violet 
balls was the presentation of the ball to 
the "Most Loved One." 

My little Sister and I had no ques- 
tion of choice. We both presented our 
violet balls to Mother; only we ran as 

fast as we could to see which one could 

[i43] 




A VIOLET BALL 



VIOLET BALLS 

reach that dear goal first. That was one 
time when I would not wait for little 
Sister! With the cousins who were stay- 
ing with us there was the excitement of 




FOR OUR MOST LOVED ONE 



choice — unless their mothers also were 
visiting us. 

On that day when the borders were 
so blue, the coast-country cousin had a 
most novel fancy. "Oh," she said, "I 
believe I shall give my violet ball to 
Somebody!" 

"Do you love him best?" inquired 

the cousin from north Alabama. 

[ i44 ] 



VIOLET BALLS 

"No-o, not exactly," the little coast- 
country cousin replied, putting her head 
on one side to examine her blue ball 
carefully to be sure that it was perfectly 
round, "but I love him — well enough." 

So, according to our custom, we 
walked a little way behind her as she 
started toward the plantation office to 
tap at Somebody's door. Then we fol- 
lowed the cousin from north Alabama, 
who had decided to give her violet . ball 
to Grown-up Cousin. We knew that 
Grown-up Cousin had gone that morn- 
ing to read Bible chapters to some old 
colored people — so old that they would 
hardly ever leave their one-room houses. 
We started in the direction she had 
gone, and soon met her on her way 
home, her red Bible in her hand. 

She said the presentation of the violet 
ball made her very happy. We walked 
back toward the house with her, and as 
we passed the plantation office Some- 
body joined us. He said that he too 

[i45] 



VIOLET BALLS 

had been made happy by the gift of a 
violet ball. 

Then it was time for little Sister and 
me to run our race to the house to give 
our violet balls to Mother, who was that 
day and always our "Most Loved One." 



[46] 



DAISY PLAYS 



/$$fif> "How lovely, how perfectly 
&^<M~i lovely!" exclaimed the little 
cousin from Tennessee as she 




swung out one end of the 
daisy chain that Somebody 
was teaching us to make. Our 
chain would not be a very long one, he 
told us, because with us the white daisies 
with the golden centers grew in borders 
planted in our garden, and not wild, like 
the daisies he used to pick in Massa- 
chusetts when he was a boy. 

"In the North," he said, "daisies grow 
in great numbers, fields and fields all 
white with them! There they are some- 
times called white weed." We 
had never heard daisies called 
whiteweed. 

As Somebody kept working 
and the chain kept growing 

in length, we thought it might 

[ i4 7 ] 




DAISY PLAYS 

not be so short a chain, after all; but he 
told us how daisy chains many rods long 
are used in certain Northern college fes- 
tivals. So we begged him for a story of 
those college daisy chains. When he had 
finished telling us about the daisies of 
the North, the little Georgia cousin said : 
"We call our daisies marguerites!" 
That reminded us of a play we liked, 
and the coast- country cousin was quick 
to suggest: "Let's play marguerite!" 
Thereupon she skipped to the daisy 
border, which was in full bloom, and 
picked one of the finest blossoms. 

"Will it rain to-morrow? Will it rain 
to-morrow?" she questioned the daisy 
anxiously. As Grown-up Cousin and 
Somebody had promised to take us 
picnicking on the morrow, we gathered 
about the coast-country cousin and 
waited breathlessly while she pulled out 
the petals one by one, saying, "It will 
— it won't — it will — it won't — it will 

— " in quick succession till all the 

[i48] 




DAISY PLAYS 

petals but one were pulled. Then, "It 
won't!'* she cried triumphantly as she 
pulled the very last petal; and we all 
danced for joy at the daisy's answer! 

We had long had a daisy play of our 
own. We showed it to Some- 
body, who said he thought it 
quite cunning. Our play was 
called little grandmas, and this 
was the way we played it: 

We chose a daisy with a 
smooth center. First with scissors we 
neatly trimmed the petals on the upper 
half of the blossom, leaving a narrow, 
stiff frill half way round. From the other 
half of the daisy we pulled all the petals 
except the two middle ones. Then with 
pen and ink we drew a face — eyes, nose, 
mouth — on the yellow center. Behold, 
a yellow face in a frilled white cap, tied 
beneath the chin with white strings! 
A little grandmother — quite cunning, 
indeed ! 

[49] 



CHRISTMAS GIFT FROM THE 
PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

Of course Christmas came to our garden 
as to all the rest of the world. Always 
on that day of days my little Sister and 
I looked for flowers in our garden — 
and always found them. There were 
late roses even at Christmas time, and 
those late roses were strangely fragrant. 
There were often pale blooms on apple, 
pear, or other fruit trees — just fair 
promises that never rounded out into 
fruit. 

In the house, long before that day, 
surprises were always being prepared 
for us — surprises that would keep us 
outdoors on Christmas morning, waiting 
to be called. Among them was sure to 
be a garden-play surprise. While wait- 
ing in the garden, we would talk of 
former Christmas pleasures. The little 
coast-country cousin, if she happened to 

[ i5o ] 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

be visiting us, would tell of delightful 
sails or baths in the warm sea near her 
home in the far south on Ghristmases 
that she remembered. The cousin from 
Tennessee would describe real snows — 
not the sort of snows that the rest of us 
had seen, soft sprinkles, soon to be 
melted. 

On this particular Christmas, the 
cousin from Georgia came dancing out 
of the house, and we saw that her eyes 
were big, big, big with some sort of 
pleasure and surprise. 

"Oh," she cried, "oh, oh!" 

"What is it?" demanded the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

"I saw!" panted the little cousin from 
Georgia. "I didn't mean to, but I saw!" 

"What?" asked the north Alabama 
cousin. 

"Why, the garden- play surprise!" the 
Georgia cousin exclaimed. 

"But don't tell us what it is!" warned 

the coast-country cousin — "because it 

[i5i] 



CHRISTMAS GIFT 

is to be a surprise," she added, and of 
course we all confessed on the instant 
that we must not know a surprise till it 
was ready for us. 

"I didn't peep," declared the little 
Georgia cousin. 

"Of course you didn't," said the cousin 
from Tennessee. 

"You just happened to see," said the 
cousin from north Alabama, "and I 
wish — almost — we had all just hap- 
pened to — " 

"So do I," agreed the coast-country 
cousin. 

"We'll thes' wait," said my little Sis- 
ter, folding her hands. 

"Might I just say—?" 

"If you only might!" 

"Should I? — the first letter?" 

"I wouldn't." 

"No, I mustn't. But if I might — 
but no!" cried the cousin from Georgia, 
trying to repress her excitement. 

Just then we saw two grown-ups ap- 

[ i5a ] 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

proaching from the house. The little 
Georgia cousin waved both hands at 
them and hopped up and down with 
glee as she called: 

"I saw! I'm sorry! I'm glad — " 

"She didn't mean to!" 

"She didn't tell!" 

"We wouldn't ask!" 

So we cried one after the other, all 
waving welcoming hands at Grown-up 
Cousin, whom we saw coming through 
the garden toward us. With her was 
Somebody. He carried a long white box. 
The box was so like the few florist's 
boxes that we had seen that we won- 
dered if they two had found as a 
surprise for us some flowers rare and 
beautiful to have bloomed at Christmas. 

"Flowers?" sang my little Sister. 

"In a minute," called Grown-up 
Cousin. 

Somebody shook the box, and its 
contents rattled. Not flowers, surely! 
Flowers would never rattle. 

[i53] 



CHRISTMAS GIFT 

"Ah!" "Oh!" "Ah!" we cried, "What 
can it be? What can it be?" 

"Now, all stand in a row," directed 
Grown-up Cousin. 




We obeyed, and Somebody, standing a 
little distance from us, held the box while 
Grown-up Cousin prepared to open it. 

"She made them herself," said Some- 
body. 

"All but the gilt ones," corrected 
Grown-up Cousin. 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

Oh, how anxious we were to know 
what the long white box contained! 
Grown-up Cousin put her hands into 
the box, and again we heard that excit- 
ing, mysterious rattle! Then she drew 
out handfuls of what seemed to be 
jewels! — red, rose, orange, purple, green, 
blue, gold! — strings and chains and 
heaps of jewels, or what looked like 
jewels, tumbling over each other, falling 
from Grown-up Cousin's hands! With 
her brilliant treasures she came to the 
row of us, while we gazed and wondered; 
and as we stood all speechless with sur- 
prise, she clasped a necklace of beauty 
about the throat of each of us. 

One was rose and gold. 

One was pale blue and gold. 

One was deep red and gold. 

One was purple and gold. 

One was sage green and gold. 

One was amber and gold. 

They were wonderful, those necklaces! 
We were still too amazed and delighted 

[i55] 



CHRISTMAS GIFT 

to speak, though Grown-up Cousin had 
reached the end of the row. 

"Christmas gift," she said, "from me 
and the Pride of China trees!" 

We were freshly amazed and could re- 
cover only enough of our senses to call 
out, "Thank you! Thank you!" as she 
and Somebody walked back through the 
garden, talking and laughing, leaving us 
with our treasures. 

The little cousin from Tennessee had 
unclasped her necklace and was passing 
the beads with wondering touch through 
her fingers. 

"They can't — they just can't be 
carved — from the wood?" she ques- 
tioned. Indeed, each bead of every 
color except the smooth gold ones was 
as if beautifully carved: five little 
grooves in every bead. 




[ i56 ] 



FROM THE PRIDE OF CHINA TREES 

"It would have taken years and years 
to carve them," said the coast- country 
cousin wisely. 

"Can they be — berries?" asked the 
cousin from north Alabama. 

That was a wondrous thought — the 
berries! We knew they came in clusters 
after the fragrant flowers had gone. 
The bare limbs of every Pride of China 
tree hung loaded now with bunches of 
wrinkled, yellow berries. But those ber- 
ries were soft; these beads were firm 
and hard. 

The mystery was too deep for us. 
We ran to the house as quickly as we 
could. There we learned the story of 
our beads. They were the seeds of the 
berries of the Pride of China trees. 
Grown-up Cousin had had the berries 
boiled till the soft wrinkled cover could 
be rubbed from the seed. She had then 
dried the seeds in the sun, and dyed 
them in the lovely colors. After that 
they were ready for stringing. Indeed, 

[ i5 7 ] 



CHRISTMAS GIFT 

there was a hole almost through each 
one — only a touch of the needle com- 
pleted it — a hole like that left when 
the flower center was removed from its 
socket in our springtime bead stringing. 

Grown-up Cousin had threaded a 
golden bead between each two colored 
ones, to give a "Christmas glow," she 
said. • 

We made necklaces ourselves, after- 
wards, with or without the gilded beads. 
We made them sometimes all of one 
color, sometimes of two colors. And oh, 
more than ever we loved our dear Pride 
of China trees! 



[i58] 



mmmmm 









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